The Guise of Reason
by Jousting Elf with a Sabre
Summary: Newly employed at Wayne Enterprises, Justine Grayson is closed off and slightly mysterious. Curious, Bruce Wayne discovers that they might have more in common than either of them would have thought. And that's not necessarily a good thing.
1. Part One: Intrigue: Prologue

The Guise of Reason

by Jousting Elf with a Sabre

Rated K+ for Action

* * *

The rain pattered against the window, each like a tear splashing down from the heavens. For everything that was going on, for everything that could possibly happen, she couldn't help but wonder if she was making the biggest mistake of her life, and wondered at the horrific circumstances that had brought it about.

Two months ago, they had died.

Nineteen-year old Justine Grayson sat in the car as it drove down the street, holding her brother's hand as he sat in his car seat. He didn't know what was about to happen, what she was about to do to him.

_Pull yourself out of it!_ She scolded herself, _you're supposed to be able to make your own choices!_ But no matter what she told herself, the horrible twisting, grinding feeling in her stomach wouldn't go away. What else could she do? She knew that no matter how much she loved him, the fact that it had been proven to a court that she couldn't take care of herself sufficiently since the death of their parents was enough to also convince her, however unwillingly, that it was the best thing for both him and her.

It calmed her conscience, at least. But the rest of her was left to wonder whether she was doing the right thing at all, or if it was going to be the worst mistake of her life.

Suddenly, they arrived, and she looked out the window, taking in her surroundings. The grey building was almost modern, but the old moldings around the door told her it was much older than it looked. The driver looked back.

"I can give you ten minutes, Miss Grayson, then we need to go inside," He said. She nodded, the twisting feeling intensifying in her stomach. Then she turned to the little boy beside her, and unbuckled his car seat, setting him in her lap.

As she sat in the back of the social service worker's car, holding the silent boy in her lap, it took all her willpower to hold the tears back.

"Dusty?" She looked down at the blonde little two, almost three year old. 'Dusty' was as close as he could get to Justine when he had first started to talk, and the name had stuck ever since.

"Yes, Rick?"

"Are you going away?" His green-gray eyes searched hers. Justine bit her lip surreptitiously, praying silently that she wouldn't cry in front of her little brother. He had seen more tears in the last two months than he should in a lifetime.

She took a deep breath. The inevitable conversation had arrived. The one she hoped and prayed that they could avoid, "Yes, Rick. I need to go. You need both a mommy and a daddy to take care of you, and I'm only a sister."

Rick sighed, and leaned against her chest, whispering, "I don't want you to go."

Justine couldn't help it. A tear leaked out before she could stop it. She put her arms around the sweet little boy, putting her cheek on the top of his head.

"I don't want to go either, Rick. But the people that were in that big house on Friday said that you would be better off if you lived with a mommy and a daddy."

The big house was the courthouse, and after the two-month grace period since their parents' death was enough to determine that Justine was unfit to take care of Rick, and Justine was also ordered to stay with friends until she could find a place to work or go to school.

Ordered. There was no choice.

"Dusty? Why are you crying?" Rick said, his beautiful eyes widening. "You said you weren't going to cry anymore. You _promised_." Justine tried to swallow her tears.

"I'm sorry Rick. It just hurts, right here," she put her hand on her heart, "That I won't be able to see you again after this."

"You mean you're leaving too?" Rick's eyes grew wider still. "Even after mommy and daddy? You're leaving forever?"

Justine's eyes fell. "I have to, Rick. If I stay here, I will never forgive the men who made you go live somewhere else. It would hurt me too much. And you need to learn," She paused, trying to stall the tears that were again threatening her, "to be loving and kind to everyone. It's so important, Rick, and I don't know if I can teach you that."

"Why not?"

Justine's eyes fell, "I'm very mad, Rick. Mad at the people who made Mommy and Daddy go away. I don't know if I can teach you how to love and be nice to everyone while I can't do it myself."

"But you're nice to me! And you love me! What if my new Mommy and Daddy don't love me?" Her heart was breaking, breaking worse than the night their parents were killed.

"They do love you, Rick. I found these people, special just for you. They promised me they would love you, and teach you the things that you need to be taught, and keep you safe, and all the things that I can't do."

"Why can't you?"

Justine sighed. "The people in the big house told me I couldn't. And since they said I can't, I can't live with you either. These special people are going to let you live with them, for as long as you want." _For the good of the child, and making sure your attitude doesn't affect him, once you place him in the home, you are not allowed to visit him for a period of one year. Should you decide to visit him after that, you will have to consult with his foster parents…_

"I don't want to live with them," He said, his voice hardening with anger, and his eyes brimming with tears, "They're taking you away from me. They can't do that!" He shouted, "I _hate_ them!"

"No!" She calmed her voice. Then taking Rick's face gently in her hands, "No, Rick. Love them. Pretend that they were your real mom and dad," Her heart shattered at her next words, "Pretend I don't exist. It will make all of the hurt go away."

"I don't want to love them," He said adamantly.

She shushed him softly, "But you need to. Do it for me. Please."

He sighed softly, "Okay, Dusty," Then gave her a big hug around her neck. She once again fought back tears.

"Thank you, Rick. Thank you. Are you ready to go?" She asked. He nodded. She wasn't. She wouldn't ever be ready to let go. But she opened the car door.

Mr. Henderson, their social worker, looked at her. Ironically, he looked more like a bodyguard than a social worker, but she had a suspicion that that had something to do with the fact that both she and Rick were worth one quarter of a billion each. This was something that had made it difficult to find suitable foster parents for Rick.

"Are you ready to go?" He rumbled. Justine nodded, taking Rick's hand in her right and his suitcase in her left and walked up to the house.

* * *

That night, Justine couldn't sleep. Her heart ached worse than any torment, physical or otherwise she could think of. She sat in her armchair, staring at the lighted TV and tried to absorb herself in The Little Mermaid. After watching for a few more minutes, she decided she couldn't watch anymore and switched to cable TV and started channel surfing. She was midway half laughing and half crying through a Gilligan's Island episode when the phone rang. Justine hoisted herself out of her chair, wondering why anyone would be calling at two in the morning.

"Hello?" She said, trying to be quiet, for the sake of the people on the other side of the walls that seemed to be paper-thin.

"Ms. Grayson?" The accent was foreign. Not that she traveled much herself, but the dignitaries that she met at various colleges and the professors that her father had invited over had more than groomed her in the various accents. She held the phone closer and sat down on the edge of the desk.

"Speaking," She replied. There was something about his voice that made her half calm and half tense.

"Ms. Grayson, I am calling about your application to our institution."

"Yes?" She had applied to at least twenty colleges and tech schools; all of them a place where it was a decent hour right now.

"My name is David Watson; I'm in charge of the portion of the college you would be admitted to. I would like to ask you a few questions."

Justine opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Watson interrupted her before she could speak, "I am well aware that it is two o'clock in the morning in Gotham, and I am also well aware that you are very much awake. I am not surprised, after your ordeal concerning your brother."

"How do you know that?"

"Do not despair, Ms. Grayson, we are simply well informed, and we choose our students very, _very_ carefully." _That,_ Justine thought ironically, _is obvious_.

"Forgive me, Mr. Watson, you have not told me which college you are from."

"Tibet's Masters of the Future Academy. You were one of fifteen applicants we have looked into out of thousands. We were especially appreciative concerning your high marks in mechanics and the construction of vehicles. We would very much like to have you at our Academy."

_Oh._ "Well, uh – I…"

"You do not have to respond now. The telephone number has been sent to you by e-mail, along with the list of supplies you will need at the academy."

"Ah, that was one of the things I wanted to ask you. I was looking at your course list and it was rather vague. What types of physical activities are taught at your academy?"

"I think you'll find, Ms. Grayson, that we teach a little bit of everything," Then, with a rather abrupt ending, he hung up. It took her two seconds to decide what to do. She lunged for her computer, knocking over a lamp, earning her a loud rapping on the wall from next door. Looking guiltily toward the offended neighbor's adjoining wall, she quietly inched around the desk, and sat down.

Justine opened her e-mail, to find a letter from the TMFA. After reading through the accreditations and the degrees that she could acquire, she picked up her phone and called the number. As soon as Mr. Watson got on the line, she said in a voice so earnest she wondered if she was making the right decision.

"Where do I sign?" She asked.

"Bottom of the second page of the e-mail. Print it out and bring it with you. Your ticket to Beijing will be ready when you wake up. I suggest you get some sleep, as your flight will probably leave next afternoon. You are to report to the campus on Thursday, in two days, whenever you arrive. We will have a representative waiting for you at the airport. Welcome, Ms. Grayson, to the Academy."

After they had both hung up, Justine went right to bed. She would have to wake up around ten if she was going to get everything done. _Finally, a way out of this mess._ Her mind reveled in this possibility. Despite all that was on her mind, she finally fell into a sleep with no nightmares for the first time in two months.

* * *

And so it begins.

This story will (with luck and good internet) be updated every week on Saturdays. Enjoy!

Jousting Elf with a Sabre


	2. Chapter One: Eight Years Later

Here's Chapter One! Well, the real one anyway...There's an author's note at the bottom. Anyway, enjoy!

-Sabre

* * *

Chapter One

Eight Years Later

Dusty shifted nervously in one of her old dress suits. It was tailored, but since she had worn it last in her teenager days, she had lost weight. The effect the whole ensemble had made her look bigger than she really was, but as she was going for in for a mechanics interview, she decided that the three inches between herself then and herself now wouldn't make that much of a difference.

"Miss Grayson? Mr. Fox will see you now." The tall brunette secretary told Dusty, and as the latter stood up, obviously took in her slightly out-of-fit suit. However she chose to hide the fact, after Dusty straightened, topping's the secretary's 5'6" by four inches without her high heels, and topping six foot (and the secretary by six inches) with them.

"Thank you." She said, using an authoritative voice. The secretary didn't say anything, but nodded instead. Dusty swept by the secretary, oozing proficiency, into the office.

Mr. Fox was a well-to-do African American man, who mastered competence, firmness and kindness all in one unnamable emotion. He smiled as Dusty came in.

"Hello, Ms. Grayson, please come in and take a seat." He gestured to a very comfortable looking chair. Once she was seated, he offered her a drink.

"No, but thank you for the gesture." She told him. Casually, she reached up and pushed one of her lacquered needles that held her hair up back into place. Mr. Fox then took his seat behind his desk. He put on his glasses, and then looked over the top of them at her. It had been a great many years since a person had intimidated her, except for perhaps one person, but Mr. Fox put her on an edge that almost scared her.

"So, you're looking for a job in Applied Sciences." It took all of her willpower to both not fidget and look calm as well. She knew she had nothing to fear from this man. He knew nothing about her.

"Yes, sir." She said, shifting slightly. What was it about this man that perturbed her so much? Was it the fact that he seemed to see through her? She shook herself. This was getting ridiculous. Mr. Fox picked up a folder. Dusty knew that folder by sight. It was none other than her résumé. The eight years that she had spent at TMFA and abroad had more than qualified for anything that the world threw her way, and provided a more than well-rounded education.

"Have you had any previous job experiences?" He asked, still scanning the contents, bringing a mug full of what she presumed was coffee to his lips.

"Only one, and that job was working with a company in Beijing."

"Doing?"

"Designing cars, mostly, and building a few specialty vehicles myself." His eyebrows raised a fraction.

"Do you repair cars as well?" Dusty shifted in her seat again, once again uncomfortable at his now carefully interested face.

"A bit, that's how I first started out, but now I mostly do construction. However, they're pretty much the same principle, so I'm sure I could do it if I needed to." She paused, "Why?"

He shifted. "Just a question. Do you have any other jobs interviews lined up?"

"No."

"Can you report for work tomorrow? We have an assignment as AP for Applied Sciences, though since only about three people work in Applied Sciences, you'd be doing most of the work yourself."

Dusty almost grinned. "That's the way I prefer it, sir. Who is my manager?"

Mr. Fox smiled graciously. "That would be me. CEO is pretty much a busy work job that I shrug on secretaries, unless it's absolutely necessary, such as signing papers and such. I'm usually down there. The work day starts at eight, though since it's your first day tomorrow, you have a one hour leeway time."

"Excellent. You can expect me at seven thirty." She smiled back at him. It felt strange. It wasn't that it was phony, but the fact that she hadn't really had reason to smile in so long…Always too busy, or focusing on her lessons.

She shrugged it off. She didn't have to deal with it, and definitely not here of all places.

"Very good, Ms. Grayson."

"Please, call me Dusty." She said, interjecting as smooth as silk, swallowing down the nervousness on the inside. Casual conversation was supposed to put one at ease, wasn't it?

"Thank you, Dusty. I hope you'll have a pleasant experience working with us." He said, standing. Dusty stood also, and then she leaned over the desk, shaking his hand. After he released her hand, Mr. Fox walked around his desk, and opened the door for her.

"Thank you," She said, and turned into the doorway, only to bump into a handsome man who looked about thirty. She was about to catch herself, grabbing the doorframe for at least the appearance of things, when the man caught her around the waist to steady her. She almost held her breath as she detected the obvious hidden strength in his right arm, and the subtle familiarity of his face.

"You're welcome." The man said, his voice low. Dusty caught her breath. She knew that voice from somewhere. She looked into his face, scarcely six inches away her own face. "However," the man continued, "Usually people wait until after someone does something to thank them."

"Bruce, I would appreciate it if you didn't scare off your new Science AP the day before she starts her new job." Mr. Fox interjected. The man flicked his eyes to the CEO, then back to Dusty's. Their green eyes met. His eyebrows rose, and then set her back on her feet.

"So, she's the new techie. Bruce Wayne, _very_ pleased to meet you." He held out his hand. She took it, giving a gentle but firm handshake.

"Justine Grayson. The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Wayne." Her tone was even, but she let an undercurrent of general sincerity run through her voice, with a pleasant smile on her face.

He smiled back. It was the kind of smile that would generally make a girl weak at the knees. To her credit, she only felt a slight flutter and for good measure (and because accidents happen) she surreptitiously took a good firm hold on the doorframe. She was almost driven to distraction when his voice brought her back to earth. "Please, call me Bruce."

"Well, if you're Bruce, then I'm Dusty."

"Dusty? Where did that come from?" His tone was polite but with an undercurrent of something deeper that to her astonishment she couldn't identify. She turned on her I-don't-really-want-to-talk-about-it smile and replied that it was long story.

"Ah. Well, in that case, good luck on your first day at work. Should I say that you'll need it?"

"I don't think so, but thank you all the same." She said, finally releasing the doorframe, "I'm sure I'll do fine. Good bye, Mr. Fox, I'll check in early tomorrow."

"Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow." And with that Dusty Grayson walked out the door.

* * *

Bruce turned to Mr. Fox, watching Dusty walk through the outer office.

"So, what do you think of the new AP?" Mr. Fox asked Bruce. He shrugged.

"It'll be interesting how she turns out. Have you had any leads through your various," Bruce's voice dropped, "connections about Crane?" Mr. Fox shook his head, then turned and shut the door.

"No one seems to know where he is, but there was a body that washed up on the river bank on the bank opposite of the Narrows. Autopsy hasn't brought back anything definite, but they suspected it was torture initially until they couldn't find any wounds except for an inflamed area around the victim's wrist." He said, "But that's as much as I know. I expect Commissioner Gordon will give you the details soon."

Bruce sighed, "I'll be at ease when Crane's put away. This is the third with similar injuries. Plus, they've all been female, two with a resemblance to your new AP. Keep an eye on her, will you? She seems to be competent." Bruce said, standing.

"Competent? I'd say a downright workaholic." Mr. Fox replied. "Her resume says that she graduated from her first college at age nineteen, and then went on to a tech school after that for seven years." He said, pulling out the file, "If anything, she's _over_ qualified for this job."

Bruce smiled, "Well, good luck harnessing the tech genius, then. If you'll excuse me, I've got things to do." Turning, Bruce Wayne exited the room.

* * *

Well! There's Chapter One, we join her later in her life. She's a bit ambiguous now, but hopefully she'll get a bit warmer and more real later on. Give me a break, it's the beginning of a story.

Well, anyway, please review! Bryt, thanks for reviewing last chapter, and Aeglos3 for putting me on your favorite story list.

Have a good day!

-Sabre


	3. Chapter Two: Car Talk

Here it is chapter 2!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Two

Two months later, Late January

"Morning, Dusty."

Dusty looked up, still adjusting the collar of her jumpsuit over the collar of her sweater. It was time to face it, at the next board meeting, she was going to _beg_ Mr. Fox for a new heater system.

"Oh, morning, Bruce. Mr. Fox is in the back room. Or have you come to see the new tank?" She asked, walking over to the canvas-covered machine she was in the process of wiring the dashboard to. Bruce helped her uncover the large unfinished tank.

"It looks amazing, Dusty." He said. The car nut inside him wouldn't let him act quite as in control as he would like and he patted the car almost reverently. Dusty noticed and secretly smiled. Over the past two months he had gone from playboy fop to a friendly mechanic in her eyes, and it was still interesting to see how easily he switched between the two. Dusty passed it off as a trust factor - even she did something similar - and then let the idiosyncrasy alone.

"Thanks." Dusty remarked, observing the car herself, her hands on her hips. "It's coming along really well. Better than when I started, anyway. Mr. Fox doesn't always have the time to work on it full time with me now that he's CEO, but I enjoy the challenge. It's more challenging than designing luxury cars. All you need for those is a big engine, nice acoustics, leather seats, and good suspension, and then you get a six-figure bonus. Not very interesting. It's the car equivalent of a paint by numbers kit." She finished, gesturing with her hand. Bruce raised his eyebrows.

"I haven't heard about the six-figure bonus thing yet." He remarked, watching the tall brunette climb into the car with an assortment of wire and tools. She sat down, unlatched the dashboard and laid it on her lap.

"Well, despite the fact that you're a billionaire and everything, money isn't something I usually talk about. Particularly because people generally start on about how much I have right now."

"And that's a problem because…" He trailed off. She peeked around the edge of the car, and gave him an incredulous look.

"I'd like not to be classified by how much money I have. It's a necessary evil, if you ask me." She said, wiring two things together, and then checking her work, before wrapping the connection in electrical tape. "Hey you never answered my question, Fox or the tank?"

"Huh?" He said, "Oh, a little of both, I think. I came to borrow a bit of equipment."

She smiled, and hopped out of the car. "You're a tech junkie as well?" She smiled and walked over to her tool kit. Opening one of the drawers near the bottom, she fished through electrical connectors until she found the one that she needed.

"Yeah." Came a voice right near her ear. She whipped around, standing instantly, fighting to keep her hands from flying up in defensive position in her surprise. He looked innocent. A little too innocent. Confound it, he meant to surprise her, and she nearly hit him. This whole martial art thing was getting in the way. Taking an imperceptible calming breath, she settled with a slightly annoyed, rather fake evil look and walked past him, climbing back into the large car.

"Sorry. I couldn't resist." He said, smiling inwardly at her surprised expression. She made a noise of acceptance, the almost immediately was again engrossed in her task of trying to make her cold fingers work as quickly and as nimbly as she wanted them to.

_Oh come on, Dusty, you just came from Tibet!_ She reminded herself. Of course, she had never tried to build a car in her room, where it was colder than the garage during the winter.

Once she finished, she was just about to hook up two wires, when she became conscious of Bruce watching her. "What?" She asked.

"Oh, I'm just trying to figure out what you're doing." He replied. She opened her mouth to explain, but then thought of something better.

"Come on up and you can help." She offered.

"Really?" His eyes lit up, and the tone in his voice brightened noticeably. Goodness, compared to his normal - well, usual - bearing, he almost acted like someone had handed a little boy a lollypop.

"Sure." She replied. "There's no better way to learn something than by doing it yourself. Just make sure that you don't snag your foot on the ridge right there."

He moved his foot as it was about to snag, and sat down. "Thanks. Now, what am I looking at?" He asked. It was a piece of durable metal backed by some quilted material, and was full of holes. Dusty was fitting a monitor in one of the holes.

"You are looking at the dashboard of a specialty car ordered by the company, which you should probably know, seeing how you _own_ the company." It only took a look at Dusty to confirm that she was just teasing, "I just finished wiring the speedometer, gas gauge, and other gadgets that you usually see in a car. Now we're wiring some of the other fun things that have been specified." She held up the monitor that she had been fitting into the hole.

"This is the screen for the satellite GPS. It will also show a kinematics and direction hybrid so you can get through traffic easier and faster without crashing into anyone, though to tell the truth it kind of defeats the purpose of all the armored-tank-car stuff." She said, fitting the screen into the hole. Bruce helped her as best he could, but even for all of his various car-fixing talents, he hadn't quite covered screen installation in a vehicle.

She paused, hooking up two wires into the back of the screen, and then taking them out again. "You lost?" She asked, rather sheepishly. He nodded. She sighed and gave a small smile. "Sorry, I have a bad habit of shutting people out when I do a job. What we need to do is wire a permanent video and audio from this doohickey to a special speaker and the battery."

"Is there only one battery for this car?" he asked, using the word 'car' very loosely.

She smiled, "No, it has two, one for the gadgets and one for the car, but both are self-recharging."

"Which means…?" He trailed off questioningly.

She smiled and replied kindly. Unlike some of the other people she tried to teach, Bruce seemed to absorb things quickly, and could relate the terms she used instantly. There was also some sort of vibe, for lack of a better word, around him that didn't get on her nerves as much as a lot of other people did. Was it because of his confidence in doing what he did? Or was it something more. When she saw him, it was almost like seeing herself, but as if through a distorted mirror. Odd. "It means that if left alone, it will recharge itself from the heat/energy converting panels I'm going to install on the roof." She continued, shaking the odd feeling off, "Theoretically that means you'll have an eternal battery."

"Cool. Is it run on gas?" He asked.

"Partially, but most of the gas it runs on is just for the afterburner." She said, her tone matter-of-fact. His eyebrows lifted.

"This car has an afterburner?" He asked incredulously. She smiled and leaned back against the seat.

"You betcha. It's what Mr. Fox designed in the plans, and I'm just building it. You have no idea how long it took him to build the burner that he designed. He had to order three different afterburners from the U.S. Army, along with dealing with all of the bureaucratic red tape, and then pieced it together himself. It's a good thing he's an experienced mechanic, and has been for a long time. All I had to do was install it. Compared to his job, I definitely got the easier fourth." She said, rolling her eyes, a good natured smile on her face. Bruce smiled as well.

"So why are the seats in here already? Don't you usually put in all the upholstery last?"

She laughed, "I think you know a lot more about cars than you let on, Bruce. The reason why they're in here already is that there's a lot of technology built into the seats as well, including the coverings for the seats themselves, which to be fair have strands of Kevlar in them. Look here." She pointed to the side of Bruce's seat. His followed her finger, which had a relatively short nail, and a faint scar near the base of her finger. For a split second he wondered where she had gotten it. Then he shook himself and focused where she was pointing, and was met by the sight of a panel.

"A heat detector?" He asked. She nodded.

"Sort of. It's a combination heat/weight/x-ray scanner. That way if you don't want anyone to drive off with it, you just press 'on'. Since everyone has relatively the same body heat, and you can fake weight, there's an x-ray scanner to check body structure and stuff – isolated lead particles and a specialized vibrator dispelling the harmful radiation into a special tank. It's pretty advanced."

"Only pretty?"

She smiled, "I've seen better. Not much better, granted, but better. However, Mr. Fox didn't want to put in a DNA scanner, which would've made it the best. But the DNA thing is his business. He probably just didn't want the thing ejecting random people out onto the street." Then she turned back slightly, grabbed something from her tool belt and then placed a pair of pliers and a tube of metallic glue. "Now it's your turn." Bruce's mouth opened.

"But I don't know how…"

"I'll walk you through it. It's actually pretty easy; it just takes a little practice. Now first get your pliers and two connectors." She directed, handing him the two connectors. Bruce took a better grip on the pliers, picked up two connectors and then waited for more instructions. She gave him a wire and then instructed him to put some metallic paste between the two connectors and on the wire.

"But don't get any on your fingers." She added.

"Which one? The pliers, the paste or the connectors?" He asked. She laughed.

"The paste. You'll beep on every metal detector that you go through until it wears off." He smiled.

"And you know this because…"

She laughed and a rather chagrined expression flashed across her face before she bent down to get the other ends of the wires. "Personal experience. Now, take your pliers and squeeze the whole concoction together until I say to stop. Not too hard, mind you, otherwise it won't fit properly."

"Anything else besides that? Wrecking equipment, shorts…"

"Well, I'll kill you, but other than that you shouldn't have anything to worry about," She winked, smiling roguishly, "Hey, while you're doing that, I'll go tell Mr. Fox that you're here." Dusty hopped out of the car. Bruce kept a good firm grip on the pliers and sat back. It was interesting, he thought, that even after two months, Dusty, who wasn't too big on formality, still called Lucius 'Mr. Fox.' Truth be told, he did too, most of the time anyway, but comparatively, Dusty had called Bruce 'Bruce' ever since he told her to. A door closed somewhere in the garage.

"Bruce, you here to borrow more equipment?" Mr. Fox's voice came from around the back of the tank.

Bruce straightened up and gave the pliers to Dusty when she came around the passenger's side to take said tools from him. "Yes." He stood when Dusty had moved to the side and jumped out of the car.

"Good work on the car, Dusty." He said as he walked down the fluorescent-lighted corridor of Applied Sciences.

"Thanks." She called back, and, climbing into the car, promptly lost herself in her work once more.

Bruce walked into the office after Mr. Fox. The older, stately man turned around, picking up his coffee mug and took a sip from it.

"So, what will it be today? A new battery for your grapple-gun? Or you were just sticking around to admire your new car? Or was it Dusty?" He said, teasing the younger man.

Bruce smiled, "I actually just need a few more propellant cartridges for the batarangs."

Mr. Fox smiled back and led on to the back of the warehouse. As they walked, he turned to Bruce, "So what's this about your finally destroying the Tumbler?" He asked, coming to a stop in front of the proper drawer. Pulling out a few, he handed them to Bruce, who secreted them away in his bag.

"I didn't totally destroy it, but some nut had a jacked up truck parked where I needed to go, I dented the hood pretty good, and knocked out the GPS system." He said, examining the launcher, trying to downplay the seriousness of the accident.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Fox asked, sounding slightly taken aback. Bruce winced.

"I cracked two ribs, but the other car was totaled." He said. Mr. Fox's eyebrows rose.

"I'm assuming no one was in it at the time." He said. Bruce shook his head.

"It was late, I was in a hurry to get to a house robbery on ninth, and I just kind of side-swiped it." Mr. Fox put on his what-kind-of-blockhead-are-you-Mr.-Wayne look and asked quite pleasantly:

"Does the Tumbler still run?" Bruce did not seem to want to answer the question.

"Well, it does, but I wouldn't stake my life on going over the jump into the cave with it." Mr. Fox sighed.

"Well, at least your new one's almost, almost finished. With Dusty in charge it should be done in about three months."

"Compared to?" Bruce asked.

"Six months with a complete team, characteristically trying to argue about the best way to get it done. She knows her way around a car, I can tell you that." Mr. Fox said, nodding in Dusty's general direction. "Is that all you need, Bruce?" He asked. At his companion's nod, he shook Bruce's hand, "Enjoy your cartridges. I'll see you later."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Special Thanks to Bryt and suchicken for reviewing. I appreciate it!

Notes: This story is The Dark Knight Compliant, but not along the same story line. It is like this that because I started writing this story before the Dark Knight came out, and therefore some revelations were made, and I had to write around them. I did try to keep the canon facts in line, though, and hopefully nothing concerning background or things like that will be incorrect.

Thank you! Please review!

~Sabre


	4. Chapter Three: Rachel

Here's Chapter Three! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Three

Dusty was still working on the car six hours later when finally Mr. Fox came up and forced her away from her work. Surprised at his adamancy at her going and getting something to eat, she quickly handed him the pliers and told him what she was doing, and directing him on what to do next. He sighed.

"Dusty, I still wonder if putting you on this job was the right choice." She immediately looked down. He gave her a surveying glance and then continued, "You seem to have a good knack for it, Dusty, and I appreciate all the work you're doing on it, but I won't have you work yourself to death." She opened up her mouth to protest. "I know, I know, you're used to not eating lunch, but it would soothe my conscience if you went upstairs and got something to eat."

"No, really, Mr. Fox, I'm not hungry."

"Dusty." He fixed her with an impenetrable glare. "I don't care if it's a bag of almonds. I don't even care if it's a pack of gum!"

"I hate gum."

He gave her another healthy dose of 'The Look'. Her gaze dropped to the floor, a little ashamed of talking back. "Regardless, get your hide up there, and don't come back without having eaten some form of nutritional supplement, otherwise so help me, I'll take you up myself." He finished.

Her gaze rose slightly, though the small tremor of slight unease still went through her. She understood now the overwhelming respect she felt for him, and it made her uncomfortable to think she'd disappointed him. "Yes, sir." She said softly. And with that she went over to her corner, took off her jumpsuit, let her hair down and walked over to the elevator, which soon took her straight up to the Wayne Tower Cafeteria, unaware that she narrowly missed crossing paths with Bruce Wayne as he pressed the elevator button one floor above her.

Begrudgingly, standing in the doorway of the cafeteria, she took in the empty room – it was two or three in the afternoon – and went over to the buffet at one end of the room. Lifting the trays on the different dishes and finding nothing that seemed appetizing at the moment, she finally gave up and went over to the smoothie stand. She was halfway through her raspberry banana orange smoothie, all the while doodling a vertical take-off aircraft on a napkin, when the door opened. Turning halfway around in her seat, she took in the newcomer.

She was a tall lady – probably as tall as Dusty herself, maybe an inch or so shorter– and had shoulder-length brown hair. She was wearing a green turtleneck sweater and black slacks – coincidentally much like Dusty's outfit of a powder-blue zip-up sweater and black slacks. The other lady noticed Dusty and started slightly in shock.

"Oh, hello, sorry for disturbing you. People don't usually come in so late for lunch." The young lady, who looked about thirty, said. Dusty stood, nearly jumping up in her haste to be out of the way, if necessary, picking up her napkin as she went, and replied in a congenial tone.

"It's all right, I was just finishing if you want to be alone." The other woman shook her head. Dusty let the napkin fall back surreptitiously on the table.

"No, that's ok. I was just waiting for someone, and was hoping I could get something to eat. What kind of smoothie is that?" She waved in the direction of Dusty's drink. Dusty looked at it for a moment, trying to single out the ingredients that she had tasted.

"Raspberry orange banana, I think. Do you want me to get you one?" Dusty offered.

"Um, sure. Do mind if I sit down at your table?" The as-of-yet unnamed stranger asked.

Dusty shook her head. It was obvious that this woman was more intelligent than the run-of-the-mill girl their age, and intriguing to boot. "Go ahead." Turning around to get to the counter and get the young woman a smoothie, Dusty saw the woman pick up the napkin with her doodling on it.

"Is this a Harrier Jump Jet?" She asked. Dusty was immediately impressed. After she filled up the glass, she made her way back to the table, handing it to the lady.

"Yeah, with a few more modern improvements." She remarked. "Mostly sighting and weaponry tactics."

"Really? That's really cool. I don't normally hold with violence, in my opinion there's too much of it, but I can see even with my obviously inexperienced eye that you know what you're doing. Mmm, the smoothie is really good. Do you work here?"

Dusty smiled, "Yeah, down in Applied Sciences. Dusty Grayson."

The lady smiled, "Rachel Dawes. I'm a Gotham City District Attorney." The two women smiled and shook hands over the table as Dusty sat down.

"I thought the D.A's office was across town, what are you doing here?" Dusty asked, reclining in her chair carefully. Rachel matched Dusty's posture, keeping her cup of fruity goodness right by her.

"Oh, I have some business with Mr. Wayne." She said. _Mr. Wayne?_ From what Dusty had heard, mostly from Bruce himself and some stuff from other people who had known Bruce a long time, Rachel Dawes and Bruce Wayne were best friends. Or at least had been, and had been on a first name basis since they had met.

"Really? Like what?" At the look of surprise that flickered across Rachel's face before she could swallow her emotions, Dusty immediately backpedaled, "Oh, sorry, it's probably none of my business."

Rachel shook her head, "No, it's ok, but usually engineers avoid all conversations about my job. I'm here to get Mr. Wayne to sign custody papers."

Custody papers. Deep, dark, discomfort inched up Dusty's back until she was sitting ramrod straight.

"As in…adoption papers?" She asked, her hand subconsciously straying up to her face, swiping a few stray hairs back. Was Bruce married? She knew he was a hopeless flirt, albeit an intelligent one, but it didn't seem in character with what she'd seen of the real him to be two timing someone, at least not someone whom he had committed to.

"No, just custody papers, like mentorship." Rachel responded. Dusty sat back, almost forcefully.

"Oh. How does _that_ work?" She said. As much as she generally understood most things, law and the specifics thereof were not her forté. Especially considering to the unpleasantness of the past, she preferred to leave that area of the professional field alone.

"Well, since Wayne Enterprises has the guardianship of the child, Mr. Wayne only has to take custody of the boy, for legal proof that if anything happens, it is actually Bruce's fault." Dusty giggled, her hand quickly coming up to cover her mouth.

"What?" Rachel asked, a smile spreading over her own face, regardless of the fact that she didn't know what Dusty was laughing about.

"Oh just what you said – and you called him Bruce." Rachel opened her mouth to defend herself. Dusty put up a hand.

"It's ok. When Bruce comes down, a lot of the time when he's not talking about cars, he's talking about you."

Rachel smiled, "I hope nothing embarrassing." Dusty flashed a grin back at her and replied sneakily.

"Only the pineapple incident." Rachel started laughing. At long last she was able to choke out:

"Great, my worst moments in history divulged to a complete stranger." Dusty laughed too, albeit not as hard as Rachel.

"Well, hopefully not a _complete_ stranger." She said, shrugging a bit. Rachel smiled.

"No, not a complete stranger. So, seeing how you know nearly everything about me, what about yourself?"

Dusty's grin faded into a vaguely painful smile, "Well, I have two parents who died eight years ago, and a little brother. I don't know where he is right now."

Rachel's eyes softened with pity. "I'm sorry. If you want, I could help you find him, I have a lot of access to the orphanages in Gotham, and…"

"No, Rachel, it's ok." All hints of pain or discomfort vanished from her face, as if someone had wiped her face with a rag, leaving only a calm, reassuring expression on her face. Her tone matched her expression, and Rachel's conscience eased at bringing it up. "It's probably better that I don't meet him ever again. Besides, I'm sure he's doing fine. Before I…we got separated, he was placed in a good home. After that, I went back to school, and then came back here."

"So what did you major in?"

"Quite a bit. Physical Education, Mechanics, Russian, French, Spanish, Italian and Mandarin Chinese."

"Seven Majors?" Dusty shrugged.

"I had my whole life ahead of me, and I have a knack for languages anyway. It was really quite easy because a lot of people that spoke those languages were there. I don't think most of them knew English. Physical Education was the hardest."

"Did you specialize in any areas?" Rachel asked, an intent look of concentration on her face.

"Martial Arts, mostly, of most disciplines and fighting styles, but I also did some boxing, fencing and track. When I did ballroom and horseback riding, it was mostly review."

"It sounds intense."

The left corner of Dusty's mouth rose in a half smile, while her gaze went off into the distance, reliving those days over again, "It was. Some days I had to wake up early at three in the morning so I could finish my mechanics homework before I started training at five."

"Three? I was hard pressed to get up at six during my college years."

"Well, I lived in the dorms, so I was inside the actual college building. Beyond completely waking up, it wasn't too bad." She shifted slightly, then settled again, glancing at Rachel briefly.

"What was your secret?"

"No heater. The cold shocks you into awareness. But by the time you're used to it, then you're completely awake. My other secret is a glucose pill. Wonderful things." Dusty smiled and took another sip of her smoothie.

"Really? Aren't those, like, energy pills?"

"Yeah, just to get me started, and to keep myself focused. Then I had breakfast during my eight o'clock break. Then I went to languages for four hours, after lunch I had a two-hour mechanics class, and then I had another four hours of P.E. classes. Then I had dinner, and after about three hours of P.E. I went back to my room, did homework for a couple of hours – usually until ten, and then went to bed."

"You survived on 5 hours of sleep?" Unconsciously and undetectably Dusty's eyes darkened with suppressed memory.

"Those days I had a hard time sleeping anyway. But I thrived. The human body is a wondrous thing. It can –"

At this point in the conversation the door swung open and, drawing the women's attention in that direction, Bruce Wayne walked in. And then he stopped.

"Oh, hi Dusty, hi Rachel. I presume by now you've met each other, right?"

The two women smiled impishly at each other.

"No."

"Definitely not."

Bruce started forward again, "Ha, ha, very funny. Good to see you again, Dusty. I'll probably be down sometime later today, I left a piece of paper on your desk." He paused for a moment, and then turned back to Rachel, rocking back and forth a bit on his feet, "So, Rachel, do you have the papers?"

"I'll just excuse myself now, then." Dusty said, grabbing her napkin, and standing. Walking toward the door, she passed the counter, and placed her glass in as she walked by. When she got to the door, she turned back and waved briefly, "Bruce, Rachel." She said, nodded to each in turn as she said their name, and then walked out the door.

* * *

A dark shape passed through the shadows north of Wayne Tower, shifting position, watching until Grayson was on her way out. Grayson had taken too long once again, but then she'd never been someone to take her job lightly. Except once. That one time was going to make all the difference. The plan was formulating, and then once it was carried through…

Grayson would be gone.

* * *

Hmm...The plot thickens...

Thanks to DarkDefender89, SAm I .pain, and Bryt for reviewing.

Please feel free to drop me a review! They're very much appreciated!

Until Next week!

~Sabre


	5. Chapter Four: Batguy and Lies

Here it is: Chapter Four! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Four

"So, how long have you known Dusty?" It was a simple question, but with a certain dubiousness behind it. Rachel was the speaker, and it wasn't that she was jealous, but there was a nagging concern, best friends and all, to know just how long Bruce had known the brunette before he had started divulging secrets about his friends. He'd always had a problem with trusting people – what with his past, it wasn't hard to see why – and if he'd known Dusty as long as Rachel thought he had, it was almost like Dusty pulled things out of Bruce that weren't natural to him.

Bruce's answer to her question almost made her draw in her chin in confusion.

"I'm not sure."

"What?"

Bruce looked rather uneasy. "I told you about my…school that I went to, right?"

Rachel nodded, "Right."

"Well…I think we went to the same school. I can't be sure, but I'm almost completely sure that I've met her before."

"How can you know that? Did you see her there or, maybe spar with her at sometime?"

"I don't know. She should've already graduated by the time I got there. She went straight to the school, while I arrived there three years after. It's just…for some reason, I keep on seeing her eyes radiating pain, but I can't remember where from."

Rachel sighed, "I don't know, Bruce, it sounds kind of weird, so let me rephrase my question: How long have you known her as herself?"

"About two months." He replied, playing with Rachel's empty glass absentmindedly before looking up. Rachel smiled. His eyebrows rose.

"What?"

"Nothing. You just don't usually make friends that fast." Bruce smiled.

"Well, generally people - especially women - don't have as big of an appreciation for cars like she does. It's a big area of common interest between us."

She smiled back at him, "Well, it's nice to see you act genuinely friendly to someone. Now, shall we get to business?"

Bruce shifted in his seat, "Absolutely. So, what's this kid's name?"

"Richard Grayson."

* * *

Dusty walked down the stairs to her workplace. She felt strangely elated. It'd been so much time since she'd opened up like that. At the same time, however, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd given out too much information.

Once she got down to Applied Sciences, there was a Post-it note on the door telling her that Mr. Fox was up in his "Big Wig" office. Switching the light on, she saw a note on her computer, as well as Bruce's forgotten paper beside her computer.

She walked forward, turning her lamp on as well, and taking the note off her computer. The note had a Bat on it.

She shivered. She couldn't help it. It was creepy. Of course she knew what it meant, but what would a guy who spent his nights running around the rooftops of Gotham want with her?

"Nice car." The note said. She supposed that she should be flattered, him being a mostly nocturnal person coming out from wherever he was during the day and probably a critical judge of machinery as well. She was just standing at her desk, and obviously had been for quite some time, when someone spoke behind her.

"Dusty?" She turned around, expecting one of the mail runners coming down to give her something from Mr. Fox. To her immense surprise, it was Rachel and Bruce standing in the doorway, looking around the room as they entered.

"Oh, hi, guys." She said, quickly slipping the note under her keyboard. Mysterious or not, it could be dealt with later, and already knowing Bruce's opinion on the subject of Batman certainly wouldn't make the day easier for her.

"Bruce was just going to show me around his favorite department." Dusty smiled.

"Oh, really?" She asked. "Well, if you need me, I'll be here." She turned and sat down at her desk, wiggling her mouse to bring her desktop out of 'Sleep' mode.

"Actually, Dusty, you know the department better than I do. Would you mind coming along?" Bruce asked. She lifted her eyebrows as she turned her head toward him. Her tone was slightly incredulous as she spoke

"What do you mean, you've been here a whole year longer than I have!" She said, leaning back in her chair. He leaned forward.

"Yeah, but I haven't worked here everyday."

"Neither have I; I have weekends off." She said smoothly, keeping eye contact. He paused.

"Touché." He said. "Regardless, I'd like you to come with us, and not feel like you're a third wheel or a chaperone."

She smiled and shrugged, "I'll probably feel like it anyway, but ok. Any specific part that you want to go see?"

"How about specialized technology?" Bruce asked, easily slipping into 'eager and interested tourist' mode.

"Which part? Computers, disguised weapons and gadgets, or other assorted things that I haven't gotten around to reorganizing into my system yet?"

Before Bruce could speak, Rachel spoke, "Could we go to disguised weapons and gadgets? That sounded interesting to me."

It was midway through the tour of the different injection rings before Dusty stopped cold in front of a number of belts. Her expression curiously hardening, she turned, letting her face turn impassive once again.

"What are those?" Bruce asked.

"Belts." She said with a flippant air.

"Oh, really?" He asked with the same tone of voice. She nodded.

"Shocking as that may be, it's just a belt with a cinch so you can zip up grappling cords. It also is very fashionable, which gives it a special ability of all its own." Both Bruce and Rachel laughed, but for some reason Bruce's eyes had gone expressionless, despite the smile on his face.

"Now," Dusty continued, dismissing it, and thoroughly shrugging it off, "Onto sedative perfumes…"

It was another hour before Rachel had to leave. Afterward, Bruce and Dusty sat in the lounge, each with a hot drink in hand, and relaxed.

"Hey, Dusty?" He said after they'd been silent for a few moments. She looked up at him, having been engrossed with her mug when their casual conversation had lapsed, deep in thought, her feet up on the desk in front of her.

"Yes?" She replied, her voice rather soft.

"Is anything wrong?" He asked. Something had changed earlier, back when she'd shown them the hydraulic belts, something that seemed to rub at him the wrong way.

"No, why do you ask?" She said, her voice perfectly normal. Then he saw it. It was so obvious that it was almost painful that he had missed it before. She was lying.

"You just seemed upset for a moment there." He said, manipulating his tone so he dismissed the subject, backing down gracefully. Her eyebrows lifted microscopically. Was something wrong with Bruce? Then she tilted her head to the side.

"Really? Funny. Nope, everything's good." She said, looking Bruce straight in the eyes as she said it and smiling as if nothing was wrong. There it was again. It wasn't anything in particular, in fact if he hadn't known Dusty quite so well, and if he didn't know what he was looking for, he would have missed it altogether; it was just something vaguely fake, kind of like a fake but well made Rolex, though confound him if anyone close to him, who knew about the whole 'fake playboy persona' deal found out he'd thought that. The point was, there wasn't anything wrong with the watch itself, except for the fact that it was obviously not what it claimed to be. It was a true emotion, just not the one she was feeling.

But why was she lying? If what he saw was true, then she'd been lying ever since she met him. It was a disturbing thought. He glanced up at her quickly. She was back staring at the mug more intensely than ever.

"Dusty?" They both looked up at the door. Mr. Fox was standing in the doorway, his face trying to hide some sort of emotion. His voice was low and grave. "It's five. You should probably go home now. I need to talk to Bruce."

She stood, her expression curious and willing, putting her mug on the coffee table, "Are you sure? I could still do a little more on the tank. The brake fluid hose isn't going quite where I wanted…" She trailed off, her fingers entwining together before they started to interlock, release and interlock again. Mr. Fox shook his head.

"Dusty, you look exhausted. It's time to go home." He said, his voice rather pensive, and concerned as he looked at her. That expression… She immediately backed down and nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." She said in a small voice. Then she turned and walked out the door of the office. The two men waited two minutes in silence, before Bruce started to say something. Mr. Fox put up his hand for silence until Dusty, bundled up in a dark blue scarf and black coat walked into the elevator, and the doors closed behind her. Then he turned to Bruce, and spoke in low voice.

"Bruce, we have a problem."

* * *

Dr. Jonathan Crane was not insane. Not technically. He mused over the headlines absently as the Internet page he was waiting for loaded, sipping a hot mug of coffee. They'd found his last victim. Of course they knew it was him. Who else would have drugs only a legal (or formerly legal, at least) psychopharmacologist had access to? Well, to tell the truth, he preferred it that way. It proved that even when he was half-mad, he could still outsmart a whole city of policemen, and most especially, the Batman.

He checked the loading page. His next victim's face smiled back at him from on screen. This girl was a bit different from other girls that he had targeted. Allyson Kendrick wasn't necessarily the smartest of the bunch, and only a blind man could see any resemblance between her and the others, but he was going to try something different with her.

As he printed out her address, there was a knock at the shabby apartment door. Jerked painfully back into reality, Crane's shockingly blue eyes turned to the door. There was no way that anyone could know he was here. He made his way over to the door. As soon as he was standing in front of it, someone spoke through the door.

"Crane?" The voice was foreign, and perceptive. He'd been careful not to make any noise as he had approached the door. Somehow that thing knew exactly where he was.

"Who wants to know?" Crane whispered. Hardly original, but it would have to do.

"Someone who needs your abilities." The accented English voice spoke. Crane cautiously looked through the peephole. There was only blackness. Crane thought about the implications that his opening the door might have. On one hand, it might be his death. On the other…

He opened the door. A large black shadow stood in his doorway, and under a hood dark, smoldering eyes glared at him.

"Crane." The immense shadow growled, "I have your next patient."

* * *

By the way: I forgot to put something up before...

I do not own Batman Begins, the Dark Knight, or anything within the Batman franchise. I only own Dusty, and select few other people in this story.

Now that that's out of the way....

Thanks to Bryt for reviewing last chapter.

Oh, on a second note, if you are trying to find music to listen to during the reading thereof, the unofficial Soundtrack to this story is 'The Heart of Everything' and 'The Silent Force' Albums by Within Temptation, and also the songs 'Mother Earth' and 'Deceiver of Fools' by the same artist from the Album 'Mother Earth'. That said, I don't own the band or the songs either.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Please review!

~Sabre


	6. Chapter Five: Justine

Here's Chapter Five!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Five

"Bruce, we have a problem." At first Bruce was so unprepared to hear this from Mr. Fox of all people, he couldn't believe his ears, but then he leaned forward.

"Is this a night problem?" He asked. This had become sort of a code between the two.

"No," Mr. Fox said. "But it is about Mr. Grayson, your ward. Something that may make your life a little more difficult than it is right now."

"Great. Just what I need." He sighed, "So, what about him? Richard, isn't it?" He said, dredging the name up from the dark recesses of his memory.

"Yeah. Do you know his story?" Mr. Fox asked, pulling open a drawer secreted in his desk, and bringing out a large manila envelope.

"Um, I think his parents died when he was little, and…he's been in and out of foster homes since he was two, right?"

"Well, there's a little more than that, but you've got the main gist of it. His full name is Richard Dwayne Grayson; he goes by 'Rick'. This is a picture of him now." He pulled a picture out of the envelope. It was a picture of a boy with dark blonde hair, and green eyes. Green eyes that looked vaguely familiar.

Bruce looked up at Mr. Fox once again. "Okay."

"Well, his parents died when he was almost three years old. Richard was an extremely intelligent child, and was talking close to a year before that. That was eight years ago. He's turning eleven in about a month and a half or so. However, he's an extremely adaptable child, and has expressed interest in meeting you. But," Mr. Fox paused.

"But?"

"He isn't the soul benefactor of the late Mr. Grayson's inventions or scientific research." Mr. Fox said gravely. Bruce's forehead creased in thought.

"From the small amount of research that I've done, I know Grayson had two children, but didn't one disappear?" He asked. Mr. Fox's lips pursed behind his mustache.

"Yes. But after an extensive background check on both Mr. Grayson, and one of your employees, we have found that sibling."

"Well, who is it?" Bruce wasn't too keen on all of this waiting around.

"Her name is Justine… and this is what she looked like 8 years ago, right before her parents' murder."

While he had been speaking, Mr. Fox had pulled out two pictures. One he gave to Bruce. As he turned it over, his breath caught for some unknown reason.

It was Dusty. Now that he looked back at it, he should have recognized it. But, then, she looked so different, or she carried herself different. He had met the happy smiling Justine in the picture, when he was twenty and she was only sixteen. It was actually at Princeton, if he wasn't mistaken. He wondered when the deadness of her eyes that he knew now had come seeping in. Today Dusty's eyes were only filled with emotion that she wanted them to be filled with. He sat there, looking at the picture of the carefree nineteen year old until Mr. Fox spoke.

"Bruce, that picture was taken a just a week before her parents died. This is her the day after the murder." He looked up.

"How did they get a picture of her the day after?"

"Lax security. If I'm not mistaken then-budding photographer Jan Wilkinson took it. Prepare yourself, it's not very pretty." Bruce took the picture and turned it over. It was as if she had aged fifty years. Her skin looked almost gray, and her eyes had lost the vivacity that she had had in the last picture. The skin around her eyes and nose was red, indicating that she'd been crying, and Bruce, knowing how the young lady had felt then, still felt like he'd been punched in the stomach by how swiftly the change had occurred in the girl's life.

It wasn't pretty. But… "How did her parents die?" He asked, his voice softer, with tinges of concern.

"Colombian necktie(1) and strangulation. In other words, a very bloody and unpleasant death. We have no proof, but from what she implicated in different court hearings, and the severity of her shock afterward we think she was present when it happened."

For a moment Bruce was speechless. "Why would her parents be targeted? They weren't working on anything dangerous or world changing, were they? I know they weren't ones to go out on the street a lot."

"Master Bruce?" Alfred Pennyworth's voice came from outside the office.

Bruce looked around confusedly. What time was it? He looked at the clock. It was only 5:30. Work didn't end for another half hour. "Alfred, what are you doing here?"

"I came to pick you up, sir, to go meet Mr. Grayson. The appointment is at six, and I don't think we want to be late." The stately butler said.

"Of course not." Bruce said. He turned to Mr. Fox. "What do you think we should do about Justine?"

He sighed, "I don't know what we can do. From what I know of her as Dusty, she is an extremely intelligent young lady. If she found out we knew, without us telling her, I think that damage would be irreplaceable. But we need more information."

Bruce thought a moment. There was a possible connection… "Alfred, did you know the Graysons?"

"Yes, sir, somewhat. Is it of importance?"

"Could you have all of what you know on my desk by tomorrow morning?"

"Here or at the Manor, sir?"

"Either one, I'm in a hurry."

"For what, sir, if you don't mind me asking?"

"To help put Dusty Grayson's life back together."

"You know it's not your responsibility." Mr. Fox said. Bruce looked down, then looked back up at one of his best friends.

"For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can relate to someone. I can't let that one person have as miserable a life as mine, simply because she inadvertently followed my example."

Dusty was in a state of shock in her apartment. _He had sent her home._ She felt much like the wayward teenager that she had been before her parents had died. She felt so ashamed. She had sworn to herself, among other things, that she would not do anything to make any of her allies angry with her.

She shook herself. How did she know he was angry with her? It couldn't possibly be for anything she had done – could it? Had he found out about Justine?

He couldn't have. Not only had she covered her tracks exceptionally well, but also in practically every way, Justine Grayson was dead. Justine was a family person and Dusty had no family. Justine had everything and Dusty had only what she worked for. Dusty had never spent any of her inheritance, but had earned nearly as much as she had inherited.

Not her. Justine. She sighed and plopped down on her small chair. The whole apartment was only three hundred square feet, with a bedroom, bathroom and a kitchen-cum-living room. What was sad was that her stuff barely made the apartment look like someone pretended to live here. Her katana was above her bedroom door on the inside; where no one who just looked casually in could see it and ascertain that it was a fighting katana and not a decorative one, and where she could easily grab it to go investigate danger. If she was elsewhere…well, the katana was just a precaution. She knew other ways to protect herself that didn't require a weapon, as well as certain stashes of knives, explosives and other weapons in case she was in a situation where it was too dangerous to dispatch the attacker personally.

She shook herself. She was doing it again. She knew she had a bad habit of being too aware of her prowess and always being on the alert, no matter what circumstances she was in. Instead of making her the hypersensitive ninja she thought she should be, what that gave her was a good dose of paranoia, which one of the doctors that usually checked up on her said was not good for her brain. That same doctor also said that she was suffering from slight depression, and the two combined was a miserable person who thought everyone was going to jump out of the shadows and start attacking her.

All right, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. But…

Bruce Wayne almost fit the criteria for the attacker. There was certain danger about him, one that no one seemed to sense but her. On the outside he seemed like a slightly-more-than-averagely intelligent person who chose to ignore it, but what was on the inside?

She honestly didn't know, and it scared her. Watson had always taught her to look beyond the surface, and she had learned that. In fact, it was one of the things that had driven her away from him. That, amongst other things. Watson was a con man, and although she hadn't really been conned, she felt like she had been made the fool one hundred times over.

_You were just part of a game, a game that you chose to play._ She shuddered. Time for exercises, she decided. When she started to think about something that could potentially make sickness worse, depression or paranoia, exercise was the best key.

It would take over four hours of stretching and strengthening every muscle she had to make her feel like she was in control again.

* * *

The dark silhouette looked up at the lighted apartment window. She was only on the third floor. It would be simple to just go in there, and…

No, Watson had ordered against it. To attack her on her own ground was not only dangerous, but also an invitation for an all-out war with Grayson. Much as he hated to admit it, she was one of the best-trained graduates at the academy, ranking up with Ra's Al Ghul, Watson, Himself and Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne. Yet another traitor.

The shadow's eyebrows furrowed. He would have to talk to Watson to talk about what to do with Wayne. He was another threat that had to be dealt with. But not now.

Blending into the blackness around him, the shadow prepared himself for a long night, peppered with dreams of the defeat of two duplicitous traitors.

* * *

(1) Colombian Necktie is a form of execution that is when a person's throat is slit from ear to ear. Not pleasant. Sorry if I ruined your lunch.

* * *

Well, there y'be!

Thanks to Bryt for reviewing.

By the way...speaking of that. PLEASE review...I really would like to hear from you guys, and hear your thoughts on the story.

But thanks for reading!

Until next Saturday!

~Sabre


	7. Chapter Six: Almost Eleven

Here's Chapter Six!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Six

Richard Grayson was bored. It wasn't unusual, especially since he had the intellect, at almost eleven, of at least a ninth, perhaps tenth grade student. At present, he was doodling, waiting for the man he was going to be mentored by to show up. Bruce Wayne. The guy sounded like a fop, an extremely useful word he'd found in one of his multiple guardians' books. In fact the word seemed to describe him better than all of his research, mostly gossip magazines that he could afford with his pocket money, could warrant the description.

Fop. Out of the back of his mind, flashes of a pretty young lady with green eyes – darker than his – came to his memory. The people he had lived with until he was five told him that it was his sister, Justine.

He could remember someone's voice – a low female voice – but saying that was Justine was somehow…wrong. He did know that he missed her. After his parents' death, which he could only remember slightly, he couldn't think why she couldn't have stayed with her, besides the order, of course. He had accessed the court files to review the case. Before he got caught, he managed to read the whole thing, and was hit with the distinct impression that something was wrong with the whole deal.

"Rick?' He turned his head toward the door. His foster mother – Judy – stood there. Relatively speaking, she was one of the better ones. There had been at least two in the past three years that had been unable to realize that though he was ten years old (or seven, or eight), he was in ninth grade, and had been speaking before he could walk on his own. More than anything – besides meeting his sister, and his own library card – he wanted somewhere that he could call home, and not be consigned to the fact that he would have to move out in less than a year. That was why he was going along with going with Mr. Wayne.

And who knew? Mr. Wayne might not be that bad. With any luck, the billionaire could send him to a school where he could work at his own pace, and fund him with all the logic puzzle books Rick wanted.

"Yes, Judy?" He asked. She smiled.

"Mr. Wayne is ready to see you. Are you ready?" She asked him. He took a deep breath and shrugged. A wave of nervousness ran over him.

"Sure." He said, standing up. She gave him a soft look.

"Oh, Rick." She said, kneeling down, she held out her arms. He came forward. "Rick, you're very smart, and very special…but you shouldn't have to deal with this. You're ten years old! Well," She said, giving him a knowing smile, "Almost eleven."

"Yes, Judy." He said, all of a sudden trying not to cry. She was probably his favorite mother. Although she had an interesting background, and one that she could claim liability against taking care of children with, she was a retired trapeze artist at the Gotham Circus, her career cut short by a terrible fall, she always genuinely cared about him, and never complained like Mrs. Travers, even though Judy had only known him for a year. She even kept him despite the time he had brought home a lost dog once, and gave her hives due to her allergy, and even though she thought a fun night was going to the movies, and his was doing his homework, or maybe making up physics problems.

She was just the best. She made cookies with him, she bought him things he actually wanted - action figures were great for experiments, but just not as good as a good book, or the latest issue of Logic Puzzles for Geniuses - and even let him teach her physics.

He was going to miss her.

"Oh, Rick, don't cry." The pretty redhead said. Her gold ring glittered. He remembered that when he had arrived here, he was wasn't surprised to know that she was already married. He liked Tom, and it was obvious: Judy was too pretty to _not_ be married.

"I'm not." He said. She smiled, holding back tears of her own.

"I know it's hard, but Mr. Wayne seems nice. I think you'll like him, and his butler seems really nice as well." Rick looked up.

"Mr. Wayne has a butler?" He asked, his nose crinkling a little bit.

"Yes, and he – the butler – is British. I bet he could tell you _acres_ more information about British government and history than I can. Now, come on. We shouldn't let Tommy deal with Mr. Wayne all by himself." The two laughed at that. Tom was one of the easiest people to talk to, and could find common ground through the mounds of experience that he had gathered in 30 eventful years.

The two then hugged one last time, and then made their way down the creaking staircase to the living room where a well-dressed man, and a very stately old man – probably the butler – stood in the living room, easily conversing with Thomas Peyton. Mr. Wayne immediately looked Rick's way as he entered, and gave him a friendly – and intelligent – smile.

"Ah, Judy!" Tom said, "Hey, Rick."

"Hey, Tom!" He said. He turned to the other man, "Hello, Mr. Wayne." He said, giving him a firm handshake. "I'm Richard Grayson, but you can call me Rick."

"Nice to meet you, Rick. I'm Bruce Wayne, and you can call me Bruce, if you want."

"Great. What do you want to know about me?" Bruce was taken aback by the almost businesslike tone of the young child's voice.

"Well, why don't we all sit down, and then you can tell me just a brief history about yourself." Bruce said, and then gestured to the sofa and chairs nearby. They all turned to the chairs except Judy.

"Do you want anything to drink?" She asked everyone universally. Everyone simply asked for water - except Rick, who asked if he could have buttermilk. The butler offered his help.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth." Judy said and he followed her through the door. It was only after Judy and Mr. Pennyworth got back from the kitchen that Richard started to talk.

He told about his life, how he had had the same foster parents until he was five years old, and then when they had been convicted of child abuse (not of him, he was much too precious to do anything to) and then he had been moved to eight subsequent homes in the last five years, this being the eighth. The terms for his removal from the others were varied. Some were overcrowded, some had been foreclosed on, some had even been terrible to the other kids, and then his last year here. But he'd never been moved because he'd been requested.

Bruce seemed to be thinking over something before he asked, "Do you have any siblings?"

Rick's face froze slightly. "I have one sister, but I don't think she's alive." The blunt reply drew a gasp from Judy. Bruce raised his right eyebrow.

"What makes you think that?"

"Mr. Wayne, please. Rick gets very ups-"

"Judy, you know I don't get upset. I can't remember her face, but if I saw it again, I would know her. From the feelings of love that I get when I remember the things about her that I do remember, I don't think that she's the kind that would run off and leave me here unless she had a reason."

"A reason like what?" Judy was not going to give up. Bruce looked at her, and was immediately impressed at Mr. Peyton's choice. Genteel but stubborn was a valuable combination.

"Well, that she was dead, or was off somewhere in Tibet for the past eight years." Bruce looked up in a hidden degree of alarm, but it was obviously a name thrown out into the open randomly. "Since the latter isn't too likely to happen, the likely candidate is that she isn't even alive."

"Rick." Tom cleared his throat. At seeing the cautious look and not-too-hidden nod in Bruce's direction, the boy silenced. Bruce opened his mouth to speak.

"Well, I see that you're a driven young man, and I'd be happy to have you come live with Alfred and I. But I have a question." Bruce paused, trying to word it correctly. "What would you do if I thought I knew your sister?"

"If I were a normal child, I would most likely jump around screaming hysterically with useless questions. For now, I will simply ask: What would you want me to do?"

"I would like you to come meet her once I talk to her."

"That, I think I can do."

Bruce shifted, "So, do you want to come now or later?" Judy moved slightly.

Rick looked at her, and then back at Bruce. "I can be ready in an hour, if you would like to wait, or you could come back tomorrow."

"Master Wayne?" It was the butler, Mr. Pennyworth.

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Perhaps we should come back tomorrow, so they can say a proper goodbye." He suggested lightly.

"No, it's ok." Judy swallowed. "He has our address, and he knows he's welcome to visit anytime. We'll be ready in an hour."

* * *

A gun followed Wayne as he exited the Uptown townhouse. The boss had said to get Wayne when he could, and as soon as he could. He aimed his M40 toward the billionaire, aiming carefully above the child's head. He only killed those who he got paid for, and this kid wasn't on the list.

He didn't even know why the kid was with Wayne, except if Wayne was taking him on a 'Billionaire for a Day' run. Aiming carefully, the sniper put his finger carefully on the trigger. Carefully he reached up to take the safety off.

"Tanner!" A soft female voice spoke near him. He smiled.

"Ah, Kyle, you come to watch the fun and games?" She paused. So did he, waiting for his answer, his finger resting on the safety. Wayne paused, talking to the redhead. "Well?"

"Not exactly." She said, her voice low. Tanner's eyebrows raised.

"Kyle… he'll be gone soon. If I miss this hit, I swear you'll be the one to pay for it." He growled.

"Sorry, Tanner. The boss had a message for you." Her expression darkened in exasperation, both with his tone, and with her hesitation. Even after two years the ease of making a hit… She was shaken out of her reverie by Tanner's impatient whisper.

"What's the message, Kyle?" Tanner the sniper groaned.

"Lay off Wayne," Kyle said, straightening as she crouched beside Tanner, repeating their superior's words exactly, just as she'd been taught. Her black hair shone in the late afternoon sunshine as she continued, "We have bigger, better game to bag." Tanner smiled maliciously.

"Come on, time to go."

* * *

Well, there you go!

Thanks to motherduckatschool, Bryt, Yamanashi Nami, and suchicken for Reviewing!

Thanks to everyone who added this to their favorite stories alert.

Until next week! Please review!

~Sabre


	8. Chapter Seven: Nerves

Well, here's chapter Seven.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Seven

Dusty, succinctly put, felt awful. Her stomach felt wobbly as she walked through the front door of Wayne Enterprises. Her knees felt only a tad better and for the third time that day she threw a thankful prayer heavenward that she wasn't expected to wear formal business attire. It almost felt like she had the flu, but she had checked her temperature and she was fine, and her nose wasn't runny or anything. _It's the nerves_, she told herself, breathing deeply, trying to calm down, and boarded the elevator. The whole calming thing didn't seem to be working too well.

True to her hypothesis, the wobbliness of her knees and stomach got worse and worse as the elevator deescalated. By the time she got to the garage, her stomach was churning with discomfort. It was getting worse and worse as she took off her winter coat and scarf, hanging them on the coat rack by the door.

"Hi, Dusty." Dusty jumped, not thinking fast enough to catch herself before her hand flew up into a defensive position, and whipping around to see who was there.

It was Mr. Fox, "Oh, hi, Mr. Fox, how are you today?" She said, forcing her hand down by her side. He smiled.

"Are you ok? You looked tired yesterday. In fact, you look a little pale now." He said. She nodded.

"Just a bundle of nerves, I guess. It'll pass." She said, putting her hands into her pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking from released tension. He wasn't mad at her, she could tell.

He put his hand on her shoulder, "You're sure? You do look a little pale."

She smiled, feeling her stomach squirming. "Yeah. I had a late night, but otherwise, I'm fine."

"Why wouldn't you be fine? Good glory, Dusty, you're pale!" Bruce had just walked in. Dusty felt her stomach tighten even worse, sending through her a wave of dizziness that she barely hid.

"I just had a late night." She said, trying not to let either her sudden uneasiness or pain come through in her voice, or her face. Without any seeming qualms about doing so, Bruce put a cool hand on her forehead.

"You're warm. Come on, I'll take you home." Dusty opened her mouth. The _last_ thing she wanted was more time alone with her and the pals in her head.

She started to refuse. "Bruce, really, I'm fine. I just took off my coat and I'm wearing a sweater – "

"And neither fact should influence the fact that you're in a freezing garage and feel like you have a bad sunburn." He said, gathering her coat, and helping her put it on. The coat felt unbearably heavy. Suddenly an overwhelming wave of nausea swept over her.

"I…don't feel good." She said, sinking into a chair nearby, leaning back and closing her eyes. She'd done it again. She'd once again made herself literally sick from nervousness. She tried to calm her fast beating heart by taking slow, deep breaths. Bruce watched her for a moment and then looked at Mr. Fox.

"Mr. Fox, can you watch Dusty while I go pull my car around? It shouldn't take more than ten minutes."

"Sure, Bruce. Do you think I should give her anything?" He thought a minute. From what he had gathered from his reading earlier that day, it was probably her nerves, set off by her rather abrupt dismissal the day before.

"No, I think a day off should do the trick." He said, then walking toward the elevator. "I'll be back soon." He said.

It took exactly nine minutes and twenty-three seconds when the garage door that attached onto the labs opened to reveal a sleek, but modest, Black Mitsubishi Eclipse. Quickly Bruce maneuvered the car around the tank and opened the door. He took in Dusty, who was looking a little pink in her cheeks, still sitting in her chair. Mr. Fox had helped her out of her coat again, and had given her some water, judging by the paper cup sitting beside her.

"Dusty, come on, I've got the car here." He pulled her coat around her, helping her arms through again, and then his arm behind her back, but her eyes opened and she rocked forward to get on her feet. She made it to her feet, but to Bruce it was obvious that her balance was less than adequate.

"Easy." He cautioned as she lurched to her feet. For a person as light on her feet as she was (or at least _usually_ was) it was interesting to see her when her balance had been thrown more than a little bit off.

"It's all right." She replied, her voice weak and out of breath. "I think I can do it." She said, nevertheless keeping a tight grip on his arm.

"Well, _I_ think that I would feel better if I helped you over. I promise I won't tell anyone." She looked up, feeling her stomach squirm again.

"Truly?" She asked in a small voice.

"Yeah. Here, wait a minute." He looped his arm around her waist while he opened the door, and then safely deposited her in the seat.

"Bruce, I'm not suddenly going to fall apart." She said, leaning her head back against the headrest.

"Put your seatbelt on. I know that, but obviously, you're not feeling very well. Right now it's time for people to take care of you." He said, his arm on the car door, leaning down slightly to keep eye contact. However, what he said was apparently was the wrong thing to say. She immediately sat up and attempted to get out of the car, falling against Bruce, recoiling from him almost instantly to get her balance.

"I have to stay. There's a whole bunch of stuff that Mr. Fox needs –" She said, trying to get past him.

"Mr. Fox wants you to go home, get about twenty-four hours of sleep, and not come back until after noon tomorrow." He said, taking her forearms, and pressuring her back down into the seat. She resisted, pulling her arms a few inches outward from her body to redirect the pressure.

"He didn't say that."

"How do you know?"

"Because I can listen, and because I didn't fall asleep." There was a tone coming into her voice that was strangely akin to a drill sergeant. Any hints of dizziness in her eyes were gone, but her hands and arms were shaking underneath his hands from exertion.

"Yes, well, as owner of the company, and hence your boss, I say that you need to go to bed, and stay there until I call you and tell you can come back to work." He said. She huffed.

"And if I disregard your order? You're not exactly in charge of my personal life." She said, her voice hard.

"Then, Justine, I'll not only revoke your security clearance, then I will fire you on the grounds of misrepresenting yourself to the company, and fraud to a large corporation." Her face froze, and Bruce was pretty sure it wasn't entirely from his threat.

"What do you mean?"

"Let's go to your house, and I'll explain everything." He said in a low voice. She looked at him strangely. She kept looking at him strangely all while he yelled to Mr. Fox to tell him that they were leaving, and kept looking at him strangely all until they had pulled onto the street.

"You live at WA Establishments, right?"

"Suite 231." She said, finally looking away. Then speaking in a hesitant voice, "You…you know about…Justine? And Rick?" She said, speaking the name of her brother in a whisper. Bruce glanced at her, almost pressed against the side of the car, looking out the window determinedly. He reached over and touched her arm. She turned her head.

"Yeah. But now isn't the time to talk about it. You're obviously stressed, and yes, I do know about how you can make yourself sick if you're under too much pressure. I can assure you that nothing you did yesterday – or anytime – made you liable for any sensible firing, but I'll need to know a few things once we get back to your apartment." He gave her a long look, and then turned into the parking lot for WA Establishments. Dusty turned her focus back to outside the window and leaned forward against it, relishing the coolness.

Maneuvering the car faster than was probably legal in a parking lot, Bruce eased the car into 'Staff only' parking, and quickly hopped out. Dusty already had the door open and was trying to heave herself out of the car. Bruce took her forearms and helped her up.

"Thank you." She said stiffly, and looked away. Bruce couldn't help but smile at how helpless she felt and her frustration at that fact. He then took her by the shoulders and guided her into the building.

Dusty was extremely grateful that it was in the middle of the day and no one was in the lobby. Bruce pushed the button for the elevator. When the elevator finally got there, a man stepped out. He looked at Dusty and Bruce, and then walked on.

Bruce helped Dusty on the elevator, and then pressed the appropriate floor button. As the elevator rose, Dusty hesitantly and almost unconsciously leaned against Bruce a little.

"Getting tired?" He asked. She nodded slowly, almost unwillingly, and he shifted his weight a little so she could lean better.

The elevator dinged, and the door opened. Dusty started to move forward. "This way." She said. He followed her lead, and within two hundred steps, they were at the door of Dusty's apartment. Dusty stopped. Bruce moved to try the doorknob. One strong slightly shaking hand grabbed his arm in a vice grip.

"Stop!" Her voice had gained an icy sharp edge. She bent over (hand still firmly clasped around Bruce's forearm) and looked at the doorknob. It wasn't anything obvious. On the contrary, the regular person wouldn't have noticed a thing. Dusty wasn't regular. Her sharp eyes surveyed the doorknob.

After a minute observation she spoke. All traces of illness or weakness were gone, betrayed only by the shaking of her hands.

"It's been picked." She said. "By a professional."

"Burglar, do you think?" Bruce asked before he could catch himself, his voice unconsciously lowering.

"No, a burglar wouldn't have bothered to lock it again. And I have a burglar alarm. That's been disabled too." She said, her voice softening as she peered at the door handle, trying to ascertain more clues.

"How can you tell?" She pulled a small pager from her pocket and tossed it at him without looking. Bruce caught it. "This. It beeps loudly and obnoxiously if anyone supposedly were to break in."

Bruce surveyed it, "Do you think it's safe to go in?"

Dusty shook her head. "No, there's most likely a trap somewhere in there, and I'm not exactly hankering to die right now. But I don't see any other choice."

Bruce blinked, "What about the police?"

She gave him a skeptical look, "You trust Gotham's municipal department? Besides, if there is some sort of bomb in there, all the people who want to kill me are not the type to punish all 1500 people in here, just because I live here as well. Any sort of explosion would be big enough to kill me, but small enough that it would only damage the apartment. It'd be quite, shall we say, unreasonable to call in a whole bomb squad when there's no danger to the general public."

"People want to kill you?' He asked. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, a lacing of pain spinning through her mask to rest lightly on her face.

"Only one person." She said. "Now, shall we? You might want to stand back." She said, pulling her key out of her pocket, and inserting it into the lock. She turned it quickly, and then stood in the doorway, while she pushed the door open.

No reaction. Then she stiffened. Bruce peered around her shoulder. Her apartment looked neat and tidy, not like someone had been sniffing around. But an envelope lay right out of reach of the door. Dusty paused, then stepped into the doorway, and picked up the letter, opening it. As soon as she read the content, she stiffened, seemingly listening to something.

"Bruce, get out!" She shouted, turning around, a dangerous determination filling her features.

"Wha-?" Was all he was able to get out before she, with all the power of two football players bowled into his stomach, knocking him backward almost six feet rebounding off the wall onto the floor. She didn't stop there, once they were on the ground, she gained her feet faster than a cat and dragged him a further eight feet down the hall.

The last thing he remembered was a bright flash, along with a deafening boom.

* * *

Thanks to Spelllesswonder29, Lisa Marie M., Bryt, and motherduckatschool for reviewing.

See you next Saturday!

~Sabre


	9. Chapter Eight: On Edge

Here you go! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Eight

Bruce regained consciousness first. He was on the floor, with Dusty slumped against his back, unmoving. He quickly flipped over, grateful that, at least for now, he didn't feel any pain.

"Dusty!" He said, carefully turning her over onto her back. Her eyes remained closed. He felt her forehead. It still felt warm, but it was nothing compared to earlier that morning. He could see a purpling bruise starting to form along her hairline. Although as Batman he was good at detecting and knowing the cures for most injuries, head injuries were not the thing he was good or experienced at.

He touched her cheek softly in concern. As if his touch was a magic wand, Dusty stirred slightly. Bruce quickly spoke.

"Dusty, can you hear me?"

She raised her hand to touch Bruce's hand, still resting on her cheek, "Barely. Boy, that was a loud noise." She said, blinking her eyes quickly a few times. Then she tried to sit up. Bruce's hand moved down to her shoulder.

"Easy, you got knocked on the head."

Her hand moved up to her head, "Yeah, I noticed." She said, wincing, rubbing her forehead gingerly.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?" He asked, glancing past Dusty to her now-gutted apartment. The door had been obliterated, along with part of the frame and wall, showing the remains of a chair and a window seat through the opening.

She shook her head, exhaling lightly. "I don't even feel that sick anymore, to tell the truth."

"That's probably your adrenaline kicking in." He told her. She nodded.

"True enough." She thought for a minute. "The police are going to be here any minute. Do you want to look through it before they get here?" He blinked.

"What makes you think that it's safe?" He asked. His Batman persona would give him all the information that the police found later, but what with her newly discovered abilities to identify tampering and, he supposed, traps, he was severely tempted to let her go through with it and just take a look around the apartment.

She gave him an I-just-saved-your-sorely-misspent-life-don't-you-dare-toy-with-me look. "Because I've been trained. As you have probably found out, I have been trained in a lot of things."

He hadn't found out. Well, not until just now. "Well, you'd better get in there, because if the police aren't here in five minutes, I'm calling them."

Dusty twitched a small smile at him and stood up, just a bit shakily, which was soon gone, walking carefully over to the apartment. Cautiously stepping inside, she walked quickly, or as quickly as was safe, over to a place out of sight of the door, off to the right. Suddenly Bruce remembered why they were there in the first place.

"Dusty, do," He paused, thinking how much of a ninny he was going to feel like for saying this, then shut his eyes and asked anyway, "Do you think it's safe for me to come in?" He asked. She responded, her voice somewhat muffled by the walls.

"Sure. The bedroom's only a little bit damaged. If you follow my footsteps, you shouldn't break through the floor or anything." She said. He walked inside the smoldering apartment, coughing a little at the smoke drifting from the formerly recognizable couch and kitchen facilities.

He found her in the small hovel that she called a bedroom, packing items into a suitcase. Bruce had a feeling that she could fit everything she had into that suitcase and a gym bag she'd pulled out as well.

"What are you doing?" He asked, as she pulled meticulously folded clothes out of her dresser, and placed them in a curious arrangement that seemed to fill up the small suitcase, but in a way that she had packed everything into that one suitcase with still a small amount of space for her to get various weapons from hiding places that stymied even Bruce, such as above the door, out of the door handle, a door handle itself, and knives that she hid in clever places. It made Bruce wonder if she wore weapons to work.

It also made Bruce wonder why she was showing him all of this stuff now. Then it dawned on him. She thought that he had figured out something that he hadn't figured out yet. There was his theory on her going to the Tibetan school, but until just now it hadn't seemed like a possibility.

At any rate, and whatever the possibilities, he needed more time to find them out. As she zipped up her gym bag, in which she had put the remainder of her weapons and toiletries, he asked her, "Do you have anywhere else to stay?"

She turned around, as if she had forgotten he was there, and sighed, pushing some stray wavy hairs away from her face.

"Phew. I don't know. Probably some hotel near here. Don't worry, I can afford it."

"IS ANYONE IN THERE?!" A loud speaker ripped through the air, making both Bruce and Dusty jump and turn toward the door. Apparently the cavalry had arrived.

"About time." Dusty muttered. "Yes, we're in the bedroom." She called. Two men dressed in bomb-squad black came crashing into the apartment. Upon seeing the two relatively unharmed individuals in a relatively unharmed room, one of them turned around and shouted back to his commanding officer.

"We got two live ones in the bedroom. One looks a little beat up." Dusty surreptitiously checked herself in a nearby cracked mirror. She didn't look _that_ bad. Bruce saw the tail end of her motion, guessed what she had done, and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him and he shook his head slightly, in a surreptitious move, and touched his forehead the same place her bruise was. She was right. She _didn't_ look that bad, but the bruise was a nice vivid color.

She slowly nodded her head both in thanks and understanding, and then arranged her features in a shocked and slightly frightened expression. The bomb squad men came in.

"Are you two ok?" One of them asked, entering the room. Bruce spoke, cutting Dusty to the punch and taking her bag and her arm.

"Yes. Miss Grayson is a little shook up, she was knocked to the ground, but she's fine now." He said smoothly, hitching up the gym bag on his shoulder. The first bomb squad man, so far the only one had spoken, spoke again.

"It's safe to come out now. Do you need help with that?" He asked, looking at the small suitcase in Dusty's hand.

"Oh, um, no thank you. I think I have it." She said, blinking back a sudden headache that attacked her as the adrenaline lessened somewhat. The police weren't as worrisome, it seemed, as a bomb in her apartment. Tightening her grip on the suitcase and Bruce's arm, they walked from the bedroom. When they got outside, the police force was gathering, with Commissioner Gordon running down the hallway.

"Hawks, Dennison, is anyone hurt?" As he came to a stop, he saw Bruce and Dusty.

"Mr. Wayne? Miss," He did a double take, "Miss Grayson? Justine?" She looked down.

"Hello, Mr., sorry, Commissioner Gordon. Forgive me for not contacting you sooner on my arrival. I've been busy." She said, in a soft, almost a shame-faced voice. Visions of a healthy, close friendship were brought to her mind, though the past made it hard for her to look him in the eye. The past made it hard for anything to seem normal…

"It's okay. I believe you. Are you two okay? Justine, that looks like a nasty bruise." He asked, blue eyes searching for honesty in the two victims' looks.

Once again Bruce answered, "Yeah, she hit her head when she fell down. We're okay, though." It was a shot in the dark on how Dusty hit her head, but seeing how she wasn't in falling distance from any walls, he couldn't see any other possibilities.

Commissioner Gordon nodded, "I'd feel better if Justine got her head checked out. We have an ambulance down in the parking lot. It would only take a few minutes."

Before Dusty could speak, Bruce intervened, somehow instinctively knowing that she would find some way to avoid it.

"That would be great. Come on, Justine." He said, taking her elbow. She fought down the urge to shake him off, doubled by the obvious, or rather not so obvious, annoyance at being called by her given name, especially by Bruce, and focused on not letting her hands start to shake again. The nausea was starting to return. She doubled her defenses, again taking a calming breath, but her voice was a little strained with the annoyance that was threatening to filter through. The headache was throwing her off.

"Fine." She said, walking with him, forcing herself to let him hold onto her elbow. Much as she hated to admit it, she still felt a little gross, and it wasn't going to get her anywhere if she fell down when she was trying to pass herself off as healthy.

Commissioner Gordon called after them, "When can I get you to fill out a report?"

Dusty paused and looked back, "Maybe tomorrow. I should be available any time you name between eight and six."

Once they got down to the parking lot, with a policeman in tow, an ambulance worker took Dusty aside. After checking her eyes and head for a concussion or some other injury, giving her a glass of orange juice to fortify her until she could eat next, and then listening to her heart and lungs, they pronounced her physically sound, but they told her to keep in touch and call in if she had any problems. One also produced a dose of Tylenol for her headache.

"Thanks." She said, as she hopped off the small bench in the ambulance. She and Bruce climbed in the car. He started the car without a word, and pulled out of the parking lot.

* * *

The shadow had emerged. Looking up at the bright flash through the window as it exploded outwards, he smiled at a job well done. He knew she wasn't in there. Grayson was too crafty for that naturally, and on top of that Watson had taught her. But she knew a warning when she saw one, and they would keep on warning her until it was too late.

Too late for her, that is.

* * *

Sorry if this chapter isn't as polished as some of the others. My beta is mid-move, and wasn't able to look over it one last time.

Also, some medical things in this story might not be completely accurate, but I have done the best I can, or have tried to justify certain actions that I know might be incorrect. Reader's understanding - or better yet, instruction - is appreciated. I always love learning about medical things and appreciate it when my mistakes are corrected. Thanks!

Also, thanks to Lisa Marie M., Spelllesswonder29, Bryt, motherduckatschool, and JimmyChoo2709 for reviewing!

Please review!

~Sabre


	10. Chapter Nine: In the King's House

Well here it is!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Nine

"Bruce, where are you taking me?" She asked on their way out of town, wishing that she hadn't put her bag in the far back.

"To my house." He said.

"Are you crazy?" She asked, "Watson-"

"That is only one of many questions that I want to ask you about, but I can tell you that while you are at my home, you do not need to worry about him."

"I wish I could believe it. I really do." She said, her frustration and seeming fear starting to catch her voice, "But Watson was the man who trained me. He was the one who taught me how to fight, defuse bombs, build cars, identify tampering, pick locks, build microphones, _everything_ that I used back there is something that he taught me."

"Even the diplomacy?" He asked evenly.

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, jarred to the realization as to how rude she was being. "No. My mother taught me that. But being at your house, Bruce, is not going to make a difference, not unless you have wall-to-wall mining around the whole thing, which happens to be twenty-five meters wide. Even then you'd need anti-aircraft guns and who knows what else to stop him from getting to where he wants to be!" Her voice had risen again, but this time in a pleading tone. He had to understand that she was about as good to have around as a nest of black mambas.

"What did you do to make him so angry at you?" He asked quietly, obviously keeping a better temper than her. This she recognized and she looked down and away.

"I – I." She swallowed. When she finally got the sentence out, it was barely a whisper. "I nearly killed him. And now he wants to kill me."

"But I thought you were his student. Usually at Ra's' school the bond between a man and his master is like a parent/child relationship."

She looked out the window, saying nothing.

"Dusty?" He said, prompting her quietly.

"Not when the student is found to be a traitor." She said. He glanced over at her. Her face was stony and nearly gray. She leaned against the window. Bruce might've guessed that she was close to tears, but neither her voice nor her face betrayed it. The stony expression on her face blocked all emotion from escaping.

Bruce turned into his driveway, driving through the opening gate, and sped up the road to the manor. Dusty had seen manors before. She had lived in one for almost four years before her parents died. But Wayne Manor was something else. It was more than just a big house. It reminded her of Pemberley from Pride and Prejudice. Sloping white hills dotted with fir trees and some deciduous trees, whose empty branches stuck upwards awkwardly, surrounded the grand palace-like building. It was beautiful, with an awe-inspiring regality about it. And yet all of it had a homey feeling that she could not describe.

A homey feeling she hadn't felt in a long, long time.

The car drove right up to the house. Bruce quickly rounded the car to open Dusty's door, and help her up the recently swept stairs and through the front door of the grand house.

"Master Bruce, back already?" A posh British accent spoke from one side of the huge front entry. Dusty looked to the side. There stood a man, probably in his mid to late sixties, with a bearing that matched his accent.

"Yes, thanks, Alfred. This is Dusty Grayson." Bruce said, indicating Dusty to his right. "She needs to stay with us a while. Could you get a room ready for her?"

"It will be ready directly, Master Bruce." Alfred said. "Oh sir, may I speak to you for a moment after I get Ms. Grayson's room ready?"

"Sure. I'll take Dusty to the kitchen to get her something to eat."

"The washed fruit is in the basket, sir." Alfred said. "Put your coats anywhere, I shall hang them up directly."

Once he had disappeared up one of the large red-carpeted staircases, Dusty turned to Bruce and asked, "Is he for real?" She slipped off her coat, and laid it on a chair, stuffing her scarf in the sleeve.

Bruce laughed, taking off his own coat and laying it on hers. "Yeah, why do you ask?"

She shrugged, "Well, our butler didn't have as nearly a nice disposition. And what's more, he seems genuine."

"He is. I think that he's one of the most grounded, and yet one of the nicest people ever. Either that or he's the greatest actor in the world." He led her into the kitchen, and helped her up on a stool.

"Which do you want, peach, apple, pear or…. what is that?"

"That's a jackfruit. They taste nasty, I don't want one and neither do you. I'll have a peach." She said. He handed the fuzzy fruit to her and without further ado she took a big juicy bite out of it, almost feeling immediately better. Making a contented noise of happiness, she demolished the whole thing, finally throwing the pit in the garbage. _Lack of food causes sickness_, she thought, _I'd forgotten about that._

"I have not had a peach as good as that for about…"

"Eight years?"

"No, more like four. Good fruit wasn't always abundant at the monastery, but occasionally we got some." She remarked, crossing the kitchen to wash her hands in the large sink.

"Tell me about it. I think I had stir-fry every single day I was there." Dusty laughed. Then she paused. They hadn't talked about the school before, but his level of knowledge about it, the familiarity that resounded in his voice... Then suddenly, it clicked. The familiarity, how she seemed to know him, even though she thought she'd never met him, it all made sense. She knew exactly who he was.

"Were you with Ducard?" She asked. He nodded, choosing to focus on the good times between them and not the lasting impact that their last meeting had had on him.

"Yes, I was. He was a good teacher." He said. She nodded, agreeing.

"I studied ninjutsu under him for about a year, about a year before you came." She said, "He beat me into the dirt until I decided I didn't want that anymore. Then once I became slightly more than efficient I got handed back to Watson. He was an excellent teacher. I know -" her voice broke slightly before she cleared her throat and continued. "I know the circumstances that happened last year, and I'm sorry. I know how you feel."

Bruce's forehead creased, pity lining his features, "Dusty-" He whispered as he moved closer to embrace her, his arm moving across her back. For a subject they'd never talked about before, somehow they just knew to trust each other, the mindset of two outcasts, bonding together to get out of the mess they were in.

"Master Wayne?" Alfred said, standing in the doorway, "Miss Grayson's room is ready. Shall I show her up now?"

Bruce looked down at the young woman. Her eyes were on the counter, until she heard her name. She looked up, "Oh, thank you, yes, I'd love to see my room now." She stood up, never moving the stool, and yet not looking undignified as she slid off either.

"Then this way, Ma'am." He said. Alfred turned and walked out the door. As Dusty looked toward the front entryway, trailing obediently behind him, the coats were off the chair. _Efficient man_, she thought, turning her attention to the steps that she had automatically been climbing. _Old habits die hard_, she thought wryly. It was now almost automatic that she should take in her surroundings with only a single glance. Everything seemed ancient.

"How old is this house, Alfred?" She asked, looking at the gleaming marble and different busts and decorations that stood and hung around, placed there meticulously, and not one with a bit of dust on it.

"Not a year old, Miss Grayson. This is a copy of the original house. The original was destroyed in a fire in the summer of last year."

"Oh..." She thought for a moment. "This might be an odd question, but do you have any help cleaning it?"

"Not usually. A helper does come every week for the things I cannot manage, but other than that Mr. Wayne and I are pretty much on our own."

"Really? In this large house? Am I destroying your privacy then by coming to stay?" They came up onto a landing, and started down a dark hallway, Alfred quickly turned the lights on.

"No, we have guests sometimes, such as old friends, but rest assured you are completely welcome." She nodded, though his back was turned. Then he stopped in front a dark wood door.

"This is your room, Miss Grayson. I hope it suits. I shall be up with your luggage in a moment. Feel free to explore the house as you will." Alfred said, and shut the door behind him as he left.

The room was breathtaking. It must have been at least four hundred square feet. There was a dark stained maple bed frame with red and white linens and a canopy. The carpet was a medium red and was dotted in true carpet fashion with gold and other different colors. There was a writing desk, in the same wood as the bed, and the large window had a window seat, also in the red/white/gold theme that filled the room. The walls were a creamy off-white, not off enough to seem odd, but not white enough to seem utilitarian.

She loved it. _It must be the house_, she thought. She hadn't felt attached enough to a house to really enjoy everything for a long time. She entered the bathroom. There was a sunken bath, along with a shower, a vanity on carpet surrounded by screens, again following the themes of white, red and gold.

"Miss Grayson?" Alfred's voice came from the bedroom. She walked out. He had her luggage.

"Oh thank you." She said. He placed them near the desk. He stood, and then asked very kindly:

"Is there anything else I might help you with? I understand you went through some trauma today. Perhaps I can draw you a bath?" She refused gently.

"No, thank you. I heard you needed to talk to Bruce about something." She said, "I can take care of everything here." She smiled at him, and he nodded smoothly.

"It is nice to finally meet you, ma'am. Tea is at four, and Dinner at six. Shall I call up? There is a receiver by your bed, bath, and vanity each."

"Oh, no, I think I can manage. If I don't come down, it probably means I'm sleeping. As you've said, I've had an interesting day." He nodded.

"Very much so. I shall hopefully see you later, Miss Grayson." He winked, and she smiled.

"Yes, thank you. I'll see you at teatime." She said. He exited and she crossed the room, and started to unpack.

* * *

"This is getting very complicated, Alfred." Bruce said, putting his head in his hands. "I totally forgot that Rick was coming today. Now I have to juggle everything so they don't see each other before they're ready."

"Intelligently spoken, sir. As smart and as hardy as Miss Grayson is, I doubt that she could realistically meet her younger brother without warning without some undesirable consequence taking place." Alfred said, slicing carrots on the cutting board in front of him.

"Such as?" Bruce's voice was low, questioning, but not threatening.

"Severe shock, perhaps unconsciousness or coma."

His eyebrows lifted, "From meeting someone she hasn't seen in a long time?"

"Sir, from what you have detailed, she cares very much for her little brother, and she thinks he is gone forever, without any hope of retrieval. From what I've seen of her personality and mindset, and the fact that she has fought off depression for eight years because of it, it is a very plausible possibility."

Bruce nodded. Though he had worked with and against insane people for over a year, the mind's secrets were still only just unfolding to him, and many things still had yet to make sense. One of the intercoms rang.

Alfred picked up the receiver. "Yes? Ah, yes, Master Rick, I shall be up shortly to help you. No, don't inconvenience yourself, you shall grow tall enough soon, but in the meantime, please don't climb the cabinets. Thank you." Bruce had to laugh as Alfred put down the receiver.

"This is going to be interesting. I can't wait to see this one: Butler vs. Preteen."

"Butler wins." Alfred deadpanned from outside as he walked up the stairs.

* * *

The shadow growled in fury, trying not to make enough noise to make himself known to the outside world. Not only had Kyle and Tanner not showed up for their rendezvous, but Grayson had moved in with Wayne. It wasn't as if they could go invade Wayne Manor. Due to Wayne's reputation with the League, however much left in shadow, he wouldn't put it past Wayne to have the whole thing mined and set up better than Fort Knox, let alone the media coverage the vigilante group would get. There was only so many times that the League of Shadows could burn down Wayne mansion and it be blamed on the billionaire.

He paced in the wooded grove by the west wall of the manor, giving the two other League members more time to show up before he left to find them.

* * *

Again, my beta's busy with moving and acclimatizing to her new surroundings. So, again, forgive the unpolished nature of this chapter.

Also, please forgive the super cliché move in with Bruce thing... I honestly tried to avoid it, but it just didn't work with the rest of the story. From what I've seen and read, though, the rest of the story isn't too similar with any other...

Just saying.

Anyway, thanks to Spelllesswonder29 and motherduckatschool for reviewing, and all those who have added me to their alert/favorites list!

Please review! I really appreciate it.

Until next week!

~Sabre


	11. Chapter Ten: Revelations

Here you go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Ten

Dusty just soaked. The extract of lavender that had sat in the cupboard by the bath had been too tempting to resist. Her long hair was bundled up above her head, as she just lay in the water that came up to her chin. It had probably been a good twelve years since she had used bubble bath, she thought. She looked at the clock. It was thirty minutes to four. Time to get out.

Unwillingly, she pulled herself out of the tub and onto the spongy absorbent floor. Grabbing a robe from the warming rack, she wrapped herself up and walked over the bureau at the vanity end of the bathroom. She picked some nice jeans and a light green button-up shirt, then wrapped her hair up in a messy bun, stuck a lacquered needle through it, and slipped into some comfortable, unobvious slipper socks.

She walked out into her room feeling fresh and relaxed. There was just something soothing, and… secure about the Wayne Manor that she couldn't place. It was probably wrong to get all relaxed and complacent like this, but… she couldn't shake the feeling of security. She started taking her weapons out of her gym bag.

There was a knock on her door. She turned toward it. "Come in." She said. The door opened, and Bruce was there with a folder.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, walking toward her.

"Much better." She replied.

"May I?" He asked. She shrugged and nodded, in acquiescence. Bruce stepped forward and felt her forehead. It was much cooler. Dusty looked visibly healthier as well. He stepped back and stood there for a moment.

She looked at him, then at the folder, and then back at him. She pointed at the folder, "Am I correct in assuming that is my folder? With my resume? And all the stuff you've…found out about me?"

He nodded. She looked down, and then looked back at it. She motioned toward the window seat. "Do you want to sit down?" He shrugged, then came forward and sat down.

"Ok." Once they were seated, he handed the folder to her, "Dusty, this is all we've found about you. I'm giving it to you, in faith that if there's anything missing, you'll tell us. However, beyond anything important, you can keep hidden what you want to." She nodded. "Once you've read it, we can talk." He said. She looked at the folder. It only looked as 20 pages were in there.

"It shouldn't take long." She said, and started to read. It didn't take very long. Once she was done, her face was stony, and she gave it to Bruce. She tapped it twice with her index finger. "Impressive. Did Mr. Fox do it for you?" She said.

"Mostly. Some of the contacts that the company has and some of the contacts that I had – such as the Monastery – helped quite a bit as well."

She looked down. "And I thought I could hide my tracks." She said wryly. Bruce almost laughed.

"Don't sell yourself short. It took Mr. Fox almost a month to get all that information. Usually with all his security clearances (and hacking skills, Bruce thought) it takes very little over a week."

"He's had suspicions for over a month?" Dusty's dark eyes were worried.

"Only suspicions." Bruce said seriously, "I had suspicions too, but only after I saw you lying yesterday."

"When was I lying?" She asked, her voice seemingly innocent and curious. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't play that game, Dusty. When I asked you if you were okay, and –"

"You did not ask me if I was okay, you asked if anything was wrong. There's a difference." Dusty pushed herself back in her chair, and folded her arms.

"No, there isn't."

"Yes, there is. You made an accidental grammatical loophole, which I exploited."

Bruce opened his mouth to argue, and then closed it without saying anything. This wasn't helping anything, and Alfred would be calling them to tea any minute.

As if on cue, the phone rang. Dusty stood, still throwing displeased looks in Bruce's direction, and answered the phone.

"Hello?" She said, putting on her best calm, relaxed voice.

"Ah, Miss Grayson, it is time for tea. Shall I prepare some for you?"

"Uh-" She took a glance at Bruce. He was looking – or glowering – out the window. "Sure."

"Excellent. Please remind Master Bruce to also come down."

"Yes. Thank you, Alfred."

"Not at all. I will see you downstairs." Then both she and Alfred hung up at the same time. Dusty walked back over to the window seat.

"Alfred told me to remind you to come down." Bruce looked up at her, looked back at the window, and then quickly looked back at her. He suddenly looked as nervous as a cornered cat.

"Um…Dusty?" He shifted uncomfortably.

"What?" She asked, smiling somewhat teasingly. As much as she hated playing cat and mouse, there was just something that made it pretty much impossible to resist teasing someone.

"Well," Bruce fidgeted on. He actually seemed nervous.

"What?" She said again, egging him on gently.

"There's someone else in the house…" He trailed off. Her forehead creased.

"Someone like…" Her eyes lit up in remembrance, "the boy you adopted?" Bruce let out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding.

"Do you know who he is?" He asked. She shook her head, with a cautious look of amusement.

"No…how would I know that?" She asked, the humor just barely apparent in her voice. He sighed tiredly.

"No reason. It would've just made my job easier." All amusement left her face as quickly as if someone had blown out a candle.

"Bruce, who is it?"

He sighed again. This was not going at all as he wanted it to. He took her hand. She gave him a wary look.

"It's Richard, Dusty."

* * *

Richard sat in the kitchen, sipping his cup of milk with all the poise of a starving man in front of a seven-course meal. Intelligent or not, the boy was still ten years old, and given a plate of cookies along with a very tall glass of milk, what was one to expect? Bruce had told him that he would be down in a minute with Dusty, and the excitement had drained all of the poise right out of him, as if he were a bowl with a hole the size of a baseball in it.

He drank three glasses of milk in anticipation. After five long minutes subsequent to Alfred's call, he asked the butler, "Where could they be?" Alfred crossed the kitchen from where he was preparing some flavored tea, and placed his hand on Richard's shoulder.

"Probably on their way down from Miss Grayson's room. Your sister isn't the most easy person to convince. But don't worry, they'll be down momentarily. Yes, I can hear them now."

Listening carefully, Rick could hear them coming down the stairs.

* * *

Well, there you go. Thanks to my beta(s), Bryt and J.B. Wolf, for the work that they do.

Also, since this is a rather short chapter this week, I'm going to do a double feature, and this Wednesday you can look forward to chapter eleven!

Thanks to Strangler000 and Motherduckatschool for reviewing.

Please review!

See you on Wednesday!

~Sabre


	12. Chapter Eleven: Teatime

Well, I promised another chapter, so here it is! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Eleven

"It's Richard, Dusty."

Dusty just stared at Bruce. Her heart was flip-flopping with excitement and heartache. She couldn't speak. Her mind was buzzing so loudly with the sheer possibilities that she was being confronted by that she couldn't move.

"Dusty?" Bruce's low voice penetrated her hazy thoughts and brought her back to reality as he reached across her and grabbed her shoulder. She tried to pull herself together, but it was still a few more seconds before she could speak.

"Show me." She said, her voice cracking. Bruce let go of her shoulder, and pulled her wordlessly to her feet. He could feel the unnaturally fast heartbeat in the pulse of her hand.

"Come on." He said softly, and led her out of the room, down the same stairs that she and Alfred had ascended that morning and quickly walked into the kitchen.

There, along with Alfred, was a boy who seemed to be almost 11 years old. She remembered this boy, but not as himself, but as pictures of her father at ten years old.

But he couldn't be real. It was impossible. How could he have come this far? Then he looked at her. Her heart stopped. That clear loving gaze penetrated her hurting soul, and for a split second before everything went black, she knew she had found him again.

Richard saw the door open. Alfred had told him that Dusty would be in within a few moments. When he saw Dusty, an electrifying sensation came over his whole body. He knew that face. He knew those eyes, a warm, dark green that looked at the boy before her.

Then she collapsed. Rick stood lightning fast, and Alfred took a fast step toward her, but both paused as Bruce caught her.

"What happened, Bruce?" Richard asked Bruce as he laid Dusty carefully on the floor, and checked her breathing and pulse before asking for a wet towel to put on Dusty's face.

"She thought you were gone forever, Rick. When she left, she forced herself to forget. It made her so happy when she found you that she fainted. She'll be okay soon, she just has had a large shock." He said as she started to come around. Rick came to kneel by Dusty.

"Bruce." She whispered, "Why am I on the floor?" He helped her carefully into a sitting position.

"You fainted."

"I have to stop doing that." Suddenly she looked at Richard. "You – You're real." She broke off, swallowing self-consciously. For some reason tears were threatening Richard with an intensity that he had not experienced before in recent memory.

"Yes, Dusty." He swallowed as one small clear tear trickled down his face, and hung on his chin like rain on the edge of a windowsill. "You found me." She nearly choked from the effort of keeping the long suppressed tears from surfacing, but then she opened her arms and whispered with such raw, genuine emotion, Bruce could hear the love in her voice. It was such a change from her usual emotion it rocked him back on his heels for a moment.

"Come here, little brother. I missed you."

The change that came over Dusty in literally the hours that followed was astounding. Her smile seemed almost glued to her face, and she followed Rick everywhere, whether she needed to be there or not. Bedtime was tricky, but at the discovery that they were only two hallways away from each other (conveniently placed on either side of Bruce's bedroom) Rick was sent off to bed, and Bruce and Dusty went to the library to talk.

Once they were both settled in the comfortable soft chairs near the fireplace Bruce asked, "So, how is it like to have a family again?"

Dusty smiled and then covered her mouth with her hand, unable to answer. Then she laughed at her inability, looking thoughtful all the while. "It's indescribable. It's almost as if a huge weight has been lifted off my mind…and my heart." She smiled softly. "He's such an amazing kid."

Bruce smiled and looked into the fire. "It runs in the family." He said, keeping the compliment light and conversational.

"Thanks." She said. He looked up and caught her eyes with his own. The atmosphere suddenly became very uncomfortable in an emotional way, where both were confronted by feelings that they both knew they shouldn't be having. Both were also immediately presented with a very awkward silence.

Silence reigned for almost ten minutes, the awkwardness lessening as neither spoke or looked at each other, each falling into their own thoughts, before Bruce spoke, "I needed to talk to you."

Dusty, brought out of her thoughts that she had sunk into during the silence, shifted in her seat and said, "Oh?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat nervously. So much for the playboy Bruce Wayne. So much for Batman. "Well then, in case this hasn't really sunk in, you are living at my house."

"Staying." She corrected curtly, "I am staying at your house."

"Yes, that. But since you happen to be 'avoiding' Watson, I believe it would be safer if you would stay here, if just until we can work something out."

Dusty's eyebrows rose, and Bruce came face to face with one of the most pointed 'Oh really' looks he'd ever seen. He sighed.

"It's not like that, Dusty, and you know it. Despite my slightly…infamous reputation, I am only looking out for your best interests. Since Rick is here, I think it would be best for him as well." She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Arguing with someone, especially someone like Bruce Wayne, was pointless, and that went double when they had a point.

"Fine. So I'm staying here?" She said, trying not to sound _too_ sarcastic. Bruce straightened.

"Yes. I was just wondering what front we're going to put up so more people won't find out about Watson."

"Front? What do you mean?" She sat up straight too, and rested her elbows on the arm of the chair. Suddenly realization struck. Duh. Bruce was Prince of Gotham; he had paparazzi following him around more faithfully than reliable dogs. Rumors were undoubtedly flying from the explosion and then him taking her to his house.

Dusty had never used profanity, but now seemed like a place where she would've interjected if she did. Bruce thankfully didn't say anything patronizing. As firm a hold as she had on her temper, she had just jumped to the last few inches of the proverbial measuring stick, thanks to the anger with herself.

"I see you get my point." He said calmly, "There are a few possible solutions. One is that you are a visiting business associate, or you could be a new housekeeper, or-" He paused, gauging her stance carefully. She had shifted her stance, her posture was more carefully placed, her right forefinger touching her lips as her elbow rested on the high armrest, her features rearranged into a careful curious expression. Confound it; she'd closed all true emotion off again.

"Or what?" She asked softly.

He cleared his through. Cursed emotions! As if there weren't any other complications in his life. This was certainly _not _something he needed. But then he bit the bullet and spoke. "Or my fiancée." Her face froze. _Shoot, _was the only thing that could come to Bruce's mind. Then she calmly looked up. Getting ready for her do something drastic, he stiffened slowly.

"Which would be most likely?" She asked. He studied her carefully. Then he realized: She already knew. And with that realization, he wasn't a bit scared when he said calmly:

"Dusty, will you marry me?"

* * *

Batman landed lightly on the roof of the Police Department building. For a person with an alter ego who just got engaged, he seemed more focused than ever. It was a moment before Commissioner Gordon spoke.

"We found another girl." He seemed tired, and fed up with this case – something that didn't happen often.

"So I heard." He growled. Gordon gave him a tired glance. "What have you got?" Gordon shook his head.

"Not much. She was dumped into the river with a bag of salt, just like all of the others, and as it dissolved, she floated to the surface." He said, rubbing his forehead, "Now look at this." He had pulled out a manila envelope, and from that extracted several pictures. "Estimated T.O.D is four days ago, death by asphyxiation and drowning." Gordon said, "Like all of the others, not a lot to go on. Were it but for the presence of psychotropic drugs in her blood, we wouldn't even know it was Crane."

"We'll find him, Commissioner. We just need time, and then we'll run him to ground, just like the others." The human inside of him wanted to add a cheering note like: _At least Crane's not releasing a city wide reign of terror or chemical toxins into the air like last time_, but it didn't seem to be the kind of thing that Batman would have said. _Where did that come from anyway?_ He mused. After a few seconds of thought, he figured it must have come from all the happy vibes at his house.

Who knew?

* * *

Something I really tried to do was make a balanced (or rather, unbalanced) character of Bruce Wayne, taking the components of Batman and the playboy Bruce Wayne and then mixing them together to make someone who is trying to be normal, but can't quite get there. That's how I see the Bruce Wayne when he's not Batman, but not in the company of people who make him put on his little know-it-all-and-yet-nothing smirk.

Anyway.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, namely Bryt, Spelllesswonder29, and motherduckatschool, even in the short time that it's been since the chapter was put up. I really appreciate it. Also, thanks to everyone who put this on their Favorite Stories or Author Alert list. You guys rock my socks. And thanks to all you "lurkers" out there! You're awesome as well, and make me feel important.

Well, people, tell me what you think! It's always appreciated, and I enjoy hearing your comments!

Until Saturday,

~Sabre


	13. Chapter Twelve: Propositions

Well, here it is... Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twelve

"I have to admit, Bruce, when you said you were going to save Dusty from herself, marriage wasn't the first thing that came to my mind." Lucius Fox said wryly as they looked from the office to where Dusty, who felt much better than the day before, was busily working on the huge machine.

"It wasn't to me either, but without anyone finding out about Richard or Watson, this would be the only logical explanation as to why she would be staying in my home."

"Why don't you say that she's Alfred's niece or something?" Bruce suppressed a wince.

"Well…um…" He reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "We're reintroducing her into society. And…yeah."

Mr. Fox's expression turned dubious. "Why would you want to spoil a good girl like that with any – of especially Gotham's - society?"

Bruce suppressed another wince. "Well, it's all part of the plan. We spent a lot of time on this last night."

"That explains the shadows underneath both of your eyes. I'd send you both home, but not only would both of you disregard me, you're the head of the company, and she's behind on her work anyway." Mr. Fox said with a sigh. Bruce felt bad - both literally and emotionally – he'd been on Batman duty, even after he and Dusty had stayed up a good two hours after he'd asked her to marry him, talking in a way that, he had a feeling, neither had done in years. They had reminisced about their days in school, found out that he had injured her during his final test – the scar on her upper arm more than confirmed it, and had then simply just talked about everything under the sun, letting their conversation wander, though both were still quite guarded. Then she'd gone to bed, and Bruce had gone out, not returning until four in the morning. After that, predictably, he got up at seven to take Dusty to work.

She hadn't questioned why he looked so tired, but he could tell that she wondered, at least just a little bit. He apologized to Mr. Fox, and said, "Sorry about yesterday."

"I heard about her apartment." Mr. Fox said, "Plus, knowing you, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you took her home. What did she do about Richard?"

Bruce had forgotten all about that. After they had bonded faster than cooling liquid metal, he'd completely forgotten that there'd been an issue in the first place.

"She fainted when she first saw him. Alfred said she might do that, so we were prepared." He smiled remembered their tearful reunion, "I've never seen such a complete transformation like Dusty's. It's like she never left, and they are nearly inseparable. Rick got up early to do morning exercises with Dusty, and she pretty much spent all yesterday evening with him." He shook his head in amazement, "I've never seen two people so close."

Mr. Fox studied the younger man. Bruce had never really known a family, he realized, and therefore it wouldn't be easy for Bruce to realize the deep, unconditional – sometimes unconscious, and unwilling, – love that existed between siblings.

He patted Bruce on the shoulder, "Give it time. You're not in the grave yet. By the way, when are you going to introduce her into society?" Bruce thought about it.

"We were actually going to discuss that over lunch. She'll probably start right away, with the next party. We have to at least look like we're dating before we announce our engagement. And people have to know who she is."

Mr. Fox almost laughed, "Otherwise it will seem…out of character for you?" Bruce smiled and nodded.

"Basically."

"So, when _is_ the next big party?" Mr. Fox asked. He knew, by her nature, that Dusty couldn't be looking too much forward to this. She was, at least now, too solitary to enjoy large crowds, and if she was in something she wasn't too comfortable with… She wasn't going to have a healthy reaction to it. He would speak to her later.

"Next week. Dusty's kind of nervous about it, and it does take some getting used to, but she'll do well. She's very adaptable, and she's never one to back down from a challenge."

Mr. Fox knew this. By undercover profession, she'd been trained to be, and considering how adaptable Bruce was, it was no surprise to see that Dusty would be as well, considering she'd spent more time with the same people.

It'd be interesting to see her work through this.

It felt very strange to go to lunch, Dusty reflected, especially with someone who was her 'fiancé'. She hadn't even had a real boyfriend since she was sixteen, and then POW! Eleven years later, having only gone out with that one boy, and that boy alone, she had a fiancé, who was a completely different person. Despite knowing it was the only plausible reason why she'd be staying at Bruce's house, that both she and the paparazzi would agree with, she still wasn't even sure if she wanted to be his fiancée.

It wasn't that she couldn't act like she did. In fact, her father, after she'd broken something when she was fourteen, told her that if she didn't want to go into mechanics, she could easily get a job in Hollywood. And to be honest, it was kind of fun to pretend to be in love. But there was a great deal of uneasiness when confronted with the fact that she'd have to play herself.

It was just too confusing.

"What do you want to eat, Dusty?" Bruce's voice lanced through her thoughts. She looked up at him, his face barely six inches away, due to his loosely looped arm around her waist. She looked at the different choices.

"Erm, I'll just have a half a sandwich. I'm not really hungry." She said, moving a little closer as they waited in line. Fine, so she was having fun. It went almost completely against her mantra, but how many times could you pretend that you were a very handsome guy's fiancée, fool hundreds of people, including the man who is trying to kill you, and on top of that not have anything expected of you, except to act like a fiancée in public?

If she hadn't known Bruce as well, or _of _Bruce, as much as she did, she wouldn't have risked it, but hearing from Alfred, and even Mr. Fox earlier today, had made her perceive that she wasn't going to be pulled into an inextricable agreement. As the two of them wove their way slowly but steadily through the line until they were at the front, Dusty had to try very hard to keep her mind from wandering; for some reason it was taking more and more concentration to keep her on the proper mind track.

Her thoughts were centered on Rick. It was so good to see him again, but she wondered if she was endangering him – and Bruce – by staying at Wayne Manor. She shook herself. Bruce could take care of himself, as could Alfred. Actually, considering his considerable aptitude, she had no doubt that Alfred could take care of several hundred people single-handedly, and he was in true stewardship of Rick.

"Dusty?"

Of course there was no reason to be worried. How silly to think there was.

"Dusty?" She jerked back to awareness. Bruce handed her a small sandwich, and then, taking her by the shoulder, led her to a nearby table. Sitting down beside her in the booth, with her on the inside, and pretty much trapping her. Unless of course, she made a scene and climbed over the table. But, due to the fact that he'd gone to the same school as she, they would probably have had to fight it out.

She was doing it again. Bruce was looking at her strangely. She'd been staring off into space; an oddly blank yet amused expression on her face. He leaned close to her ear, causing her to imperceptibly and unconsciously stiffen.

"So, Dusty, what would it take to put a super-trained ninja into an irreversible stupor of thought? Am I allowed to know?" She turned to him, innocent look firmly in place. His eyebrows rose into an incredulous look.

"I tried to get you to take your sandwich four times. If you weren't distracted, then you are very good at ignoring people. Now, tell me." He said in a voice close to her ear with warm breath against her cheek that made chills run down her unwilling spine. Confound, Bruce was doing things to her that just weren't normal for her.

"Well," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich, "I just…" She looked at him. He'd been really good at not getting offended at anything she'd said thus far, and so she put it into words, and spat it out, making sure to put on a very loving face, regards to the public, before moving close to Bruce. "I kept wondering about Rick, and whether or not he'd be safe at your manor, that was before I thought of Alfred, and how we're going to just…make everything work." She sighed and rested on his shoulder briefly before scooting several inches away and taking another bite of her sandwich, trying to look as dignified, yet relaxed, as possible.

Smoothly, he put his arm around her shoulder and whispered into her ear, "They're safe, I promise. Nothing is going to happen to them, or you."

She looked at him, their eyes locking, "How can you be sure?" He drew her closer, leaning his head against hers.

"Trust me."

* * *

He saw Grayson and Wayne leave Wayne Enterprises hand in hand. They were walking away from him. Taking out his camera, he snapped a few pictures of them. As if someone had been standing in front of him and shouting out their names, they turned around. Seeing him, camera in hand, they waved, supposing him to be another paparazzi.

Fools.

* * *

Well, well, well... Here we are...

Chapter 12/13...

Wow. It seriously doesn't seem like it. Well, anyway, thanks to all of you who reviewed: M (like...James Bond? ;) ), PATDfan2012, Yamanashi Nami, Sam I amS, and Bryt (sorry I didn't send this one to you. I remembered last night that I hadn't, but I had an enormous headache so I couldn't work on it...Hopefully it's okay... Anyway, thanks for your support)

Well, Until Next Saturday!

~Sabre


	14. Chapter Thirteen: The War of Drobe

Aaaaannd here it is!

Chapter 13!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

"Bruce, I'm sure I have as much clothing as I need. I could find something to wear." She said, trying to get him to: one, take his feet off of her window seat so she could sit down and two: get him to stop criticizing her wardrobe.

"Knowing you, it would probably be at a second hand store. You have an amazing sense of fashion, Dusty, I don't see why you don't use it."

Dusty rolled her eyes, "That's because there _is_ no such thing as fashion these days. I prefer my casual clothes with all my heart." He smiled.

"So do I, but for a party, especially in Gotham, it just won't do. Now," He stood up, and she sat down, resuming his position. He laughed, pulling her up, "Let's go see what clothes you have, and what you will need." He grabbed her wrist, and to her extreme displeasure, she couldn't pull away and was practically dragged to the said room.

Before he could enter of his own accord, she gained a rush of speed and hurled herself across the door.

"You are not going in there." She said flatly. He put his hands on either side of her head and leaned in to only about six inches away.

"And tell me precisely why not?" He asked inching ever so closer. She fought down the rising panic in her chest. There it was again, that awful – yet somehow wonderful – lurching somewhere near her breastbone.

"Well," She started, trying not to let her voice sound too shaky and yet have some sort of commanding tone to it, "There are dangerous things in there, like weapons, dirty laundry –"

"And little brothers!" Came a voice from inside the closet. Both adults jumped. Bruce moved away from Dusty, and she turned around and opened the door. There, kneeling on the clean floor, the minimal dirty laundry had been taken out by Alfred earlier while Bruce and Dusty were at work, was Richard, with an all-too-innocent look on his face.

Bruce covered his mouth, trying not to laugh. Dusty was drawn between relief, laughing, and consternation on how he got there in the first place. All three disappeared and were replaced with mild disbelief and annoyance when Richard handed a few pictures to Bruce.

"Here you go, Bruce. I like the red one." He said, pointing to a dress in the picture. It looked very familiar. Then she recognized it. It was the one hanging in her closet. The other pictures were of her other formal dresses – five to be exact, all the ones she'd taken out of her apartment closet earlier that day. She closed her eyes in exasperation and turned away. Bruce moved closer.

"Bruce, if you value your life, you will back up about three feet." She said, her hand over her eyes.

"Why?" He asked. She turned to him, and glowered.

"Because right now, I have a desire to kill someone, and since you're the closest one, you would be the ample choice." He backed up, and pulled Richard in front of him.

"Why don't you kill Richard? He was the one who took the pictures!" If looks could kill, Batman would've been in trouble.

"Because I have a very strong attachment to Richard – you I couldn't vouch for!" She said, stomping forward. "First you come in and invade some time I wanted for myself, insist that I dress myself in something that resembles lingerie, and then you send my brother in to reconnoiter territory you can't access yourself, to help you in your goal! Who said I shouldn't kill you?!" She shouted, turning away.

Bruce and Rick shot each other worried looks. Then they heard a very odd noise, sounding something more like a suddenly let out burst of air. They looked at each other before looking unbelievingly at Dusty. Her shoulders were shaking, and her right hand was covering most of her face.

"Dusty?" Bruce asked leaning around, trying to see her face, she turned away, shaking more violently. Richard snuck around her other side.

"Dusty, you're laughing!" He said. To confirm his accusation, she let loose, laughing wildly, slumping against the doorframe, laughing almost too hard to speak. Both Bruce and Richard punched her shoulders.

"Dusty, that just rewarded you with another dress, whether you need it or not." Bruce said, once she'd stopped laughing hysterically. She smiled.

"Ok. So, when is this large shopping trip? Do I get to take it alone? I'm sure as buttons not going to bring you two along." At Richard's relieved look, she smiled and patted his shoulder. "Blood ties will not force you into this one, little brother." She said.

"So who are you going to take with you?" Bruce asked, "I don't trust you that much." He smiled slightly to indicate that he was joking. She patted his shoulder too.

"I thought I'd enlist Alfred." She said. When Bruce nearly started laughing, she gave him an I-am-going-to-do-something-awful-to-you look and continued, "While I send you off for perfume. Once you found a few that you think I'd like, and that you approve of, I'll come and check them out."

Momentary disbelief crossed his face, only to double when she turned away. All right, he hadn't been expecting _that_. He watched her walk out of the room, her arm casually slung across her younger brother's shoulders, laughing about something Rick had said. Exhaling slowly, Bruce sat down. He knew he couldn't be doing this. The closer he got to Dusty, the harder it was to think that they were truly just friends. Come to think of it, it was slightly difficult to think of anything when she was near him.

This was getting ridiculous. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Even with as wonderful a girl as Dusty was.

"Bruce?" At hearing the sound of her voice, he straightened, and stood. She stood in the door, leaning against the doorframe, "You okay? I can pick up the perfume by myself if you don't want to." She said quietly. He stood.

"No, it's fine." He said, coming over to stand in front of her. She shifted.

"So then what's the problem?" She asked, folding her arms. He cleared his throat. All of this was making him act more like a schoolboy than a playboy. Once again, so much for his image…

"I'm just thinking." He said. She raised her eyebrows. He was troubled, at least a bit about something. But, since she'd already teased him to his limit, she decided not to press the issue further.

"All right." She said, pushing herself off the doorframe. She turned around, then remembered something and turned the rest of the way around completing a 360-degree turn. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Alfred said he'd go with me to Shoppe Street and get the stuff on Saturday." Then she turned around, still going in the same direction, as before, she walked out of the room.

"By the way, get out of my room." She called behind her. The laughter in her voice was obvious.

* * *

"Alright, I'm exhausted." Dusty said, pulling herself gracefully into the back of the car. Alfred chuckled.

"That's unfortunate, seeing how it is only ten a.m. and we haven't even left the house yet." He quipped. She laughed and buckled her seatbelt. Without further ado Alfred closed the door, rounded as the car, and started the car as Bruce slid into the backseat beside her.

"You ready?" He asked, smoothing his nice yet casual outfit and then settled into his seat.

"Sure." She said, smoothing her skirt, and self-consciously shifted as the car started to move.

Dusty wasn't cut out for shopping. She just wasn't. There was something about her and delicate boutiques that just…didn't mesh. Ninjas were not supposed to be fashion plates! Dragging Alfred into it didn't exactly make her feel much better, but it was selfishly satisfying to have someone with her who wasn't completely at home with this universe either. Not to say, however, that he wasn't an excellent judge of fashion, and able to do everything at least twice as better than Dusty.

By the time four o'clock rolled around, Dusty was pretty much beat into the ground. In her own terms, relayed to Alfred directly more than once, she would rather take on ten members of the League, without her armor, and without a weapon.

"Madam, I'm pretty sure that you would soon be dead." Alfred stated mildly.

"That's pretty much the idea." She said, lying back against the seat, eyes closed. Alfred smiled and drove the car around the corner to the next street, where Bruce was waiting with the different perfumes and waiting to help her pick out the dress that she had 'earned'. Dusty was almost asleep by the time they made it around the corner.

Bruce was waiting for them. He opened the door for Dusty and helped her out. Alfred stayed with the car as they walked down the street to the perfume boutique.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne, this is the lovely young lady who needs perfume. Pleased to meet you, Miss…?"

"Justine Grayson." She said, offering her hand. Shaking it delicately, they started to go through the different perfumes that Bruce had chosen. By the end, she had gotten more than enough, and together, they walked out with about six large bags between them, which were filled not only with the perfume, but also lotions, body wash, shampoo and conditioner, in each of the seven difference scents that they had chosen. Bruce felt that he knew now more than he ever wanted to about what women went through in order to make themselves as pretty as possible. He also felt he understood why Dusty preferred the nice/casual look that she generally sported, instead of doing the glitzy fashion look.

He looked at Dusty. She'd dressed up nicer than usual to go out today, including wearing a fitted teal trench coat, and knee-high boots. In fact she'd actually curled her hair. He'd known this, due to the fact that her hair had been in curlers since after dinner the night before, but it was a…more bouncy look than he was accustomed to seeing on Dusty. However, oddly enough, if given his choice, he liked her better when she was in her work-clothes than anything else. It seemed to suit her more.

As they walked into the last dress shop, Dusty turned to Bruce. "So, what color do you think it should be?" She asked. Bruce lifted his eyebrows.

"You choose color first?" He asked. She shrugged.

"I do. It helps me narrow down the choices so I don't have go through so many clothes." She stifled a yawn and Bruce smiled.

"We'll get this done quickly. Come on, let's go with…" He ran a short look over Dusty, "Dark cerulean." Dusty looked at him in shock, mostly for his specific color choice. He put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the desk. The young woman, who looked barely out of teenager hood behind the desk raised her eyebrows at the couple.

"May I help you, ma'am?" She said to Dusty. Dusty smiled.

"Yes, thank you. We're looking for a dress in a specific color." She said. The young woman gave a Dusty small smile, sneaking a short look at Bruce.

"Which color?" She asked. Bruce cut in.

"Dark cerulean." He said. Her lips formed a small 'O', before nodding.

"I think I have just the thing." She said, coming around the side of the counter. "Follow me." Dusty and Bruce followed.

"I believe I have one just perfect for you. Over here." She gestured over to a certain rack. Once Dusty saw the beautiful long blue gown, it was more than obvious this was the right one.

"Try it on!" Bruce urged. She looked at the beautiful dress in her hands. It took her exactly two minutes to do just that. She walked out, smoothing the silk skirt lovingly. Bruce couldn't take his eyes off her, it'd looked beautiful before when he'd come in, but on her it looked magnificent.

She looked in the mirror. It offset her hair, making it seem almost honey blonde. It was almost the perfect shade. Bruce came up behind her, putting his arms around her carefully.

"Do you like it?" He asked. She settled back into him and sighed.

Sounding wistful and completely awestruck, she let out a wavering, "Yeeesss."

After having the dress fitted, and packing it carefully and lovingly into a dress box, she and Bruce went to one last store.

"I cannot _believe_ that you are taking me to the jewelry store." She said, "Can you imagine the rumors that would circulate?" She whispered to him as they rode toward the jeweler's they had chosen.

"What, they wouldn't be true?" He asked. She rolled her eyes.

"They would, but they're not supposed to be true for another two months!" She said. Both of them missed Alfred's slight smile.

Bruce leaned in closer, causing Dusty to draw back just a little bit, "Well, we can just say we've been _scandalously_ hiding it for years and years. That should give the magazines something to gossip about for ages." Dusty smiled and laughed softly, turning away.

Out loud she remarked, "I swear, Bruce, sometimes I think that you purposefully do crazy things to get in the magazines." Bruce smiled and put his arm around Dusty's shoulder.

"Finally, you have captured the essence of my idea of fun."

Dusty smirked. "And to think, for all this time, I thought it was polo." The car stopped, having arrived at its destination, and she smoothly opened the door and climbed out.

* * *

His eyes widened as Wayne climbed out behind Grayson and walked calmly into the jewelry store with his arm around Grayson's waist. Wayne wasn't doing what he thought he was doing, was he? He waited until the two had gone into the store before climbing out of his car. Luckily, he didn't know Grayson or Wayne personally, and they didn't know him, so he could effectively tail them surreptitiously.

He entered the jewelry store, putting on the appearance of an interested consumer. Almost immediately an attentive man came up to him.

"May I help you, sir?" He said.

"Yes. I am looking for a watch." He said with an authoritative air. Then as the attendant brought the watches out, he watched Grayson and Wayne through the carefully placed mirror. She smiled, whispering something in his ear, as their attendant watched with a patient, pleasant expression.

The two people went on for quite a while, choosing some jewelry, while some others were packed away back into their respective boxes. He tried to keep the other attendant busy back behind the counter in order to watch them effectively. Grayson and Wayne went on for quite a while, flirting with practiced ease, before Wayne asked the attendant to bring forward some rings.

It was enough. He bought one of the watches, thanked the attendant, and left.

The minute he was outside, he pressed the speed dial key on his cell phone.

"Yes?" The cold voice came from the other end.

"I think we're in trouble."

* * *

Hmm...Personally, except for the last bit, I don't think this chapter has a real...point. Except maybe for a bit of fluff, which is why I left it in.

So there you are.

Anyway, thanks for everyone who reviewed: suchicken, Spelllesswonder29, Sam I amS, PATDfan2012, motherduckatschool, and Bryt.

Also, thanks to Bryt for beta-ing, even when I don't, well, get it done on time, and she has to stay up Friday, or even she doesn't have a chance to do the final checkover... heh heh... *ahem*.

Well, thanks for reading, and please review. I always appreciate it.

~Sabre


	15. Chapter Fourteen: A Long Expected Party

Well, here you go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Friday Night

Dusty was having a nervous breakdown. It was bad enough never actually having gone to a party in nearly ten years, but going to a party where you were going to make your social debut? With an infamous celebrity that you were secretly sort of engaged to? Ack.

"Miss Grayson, I believe breathing is a key part of human survival. It would be a shame if you missed out on that." Alfred said, as he brought in her outfit. It would be rose red tonight. It was a color that Dusty rarely wore due to the color's flamboyant nature, but it was also a color she loved.

It took her two hours to put on the long beautiful dress, the matching sling-backs as well as her braided gold chain with the ruby, and do her hair as well as her make-up.

Bruce was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He almost swallowed his tongue when he saw Dusty, and then nearly choked on it in concealed and sympathetic laughter when he saw how nervous she was. She was twisting her wrists, and as she descended the stairs, she looked like she was ready to faint. As she approached, he came forward and took her by the arm. The cap sleeved mermaid style dress suited Dusty very well; it brought a flirtatious air that the unsure look in her eyes did nothing to dispel.

"What's wrong?" He whispered to her as they climbed into the car. She opened her mouth, trying to speak, then shook her head when she couldn't get out any words. Bruce remembered her saying that she hadn't gone to one of these in practically forever. He touched her arm softly. "Relax. Nothing – interesting or otherwise – is going to happen. We'll go, we'll eat, we'll mingle, and we'll leave."

Dusty closed her eyes and exhaled slowly and deliberately. "Thank you, Bruce!" She whispered. "I needed a reality check. I haven't been to one of these in nearly ten years!"

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and said, "Well, don't worry. They're just grossly overpaid unpleasant people." Dusty laughed, and most of the nervousness was dispelled.

When they got to the party, and after the meal (and even during it) it was immediately apparent to Dusty that Bruce was more than well known. He was practically the premium of all the guests at the party, and not only did the whole thing revolve around him, but due to the fact that she came with him, she seemed to be much sought after as well.

"My, what a lovely thing you are. Of course you must be, for Mr. Wayne to take a shine to you, but what is your name, miss, you seem familiar?" The rather large woman asked Dusty. Dusty put on her most embarrassed grin and sighed.

"My name is Justine Grayson. I'm the daughter of the late Dwayne Grayson. He was –"

"Justine?" The woman's eyes grew large with shock and delight. "Little Tina! The last time I saw you, you were barely fifteen. My, how you've grown. I wouldn't suppose you would remember little old me. I was one of your mother's group back when we were growing up, before she got married to Dwayne. I'm Alicia Higby."

"I'm called Justine now, actually. It's so nice to meet you. Were you an academic yourself?" Dusty asked, hoping, _praying_ that Mrs. Higby wasn't as dense as she sounded. But, all her hopes were dashed on the proverbial rocks when the insipid woman tittered.

"Me? Oh no. Before your mother was a scientist, she was an amazing socialite. There was no one in the world who didn't know Elizabeth Shraeder's name." Pain flooded into Dusty's heart, as she valiantly tried to keep the same expression. _Mother_. Mrs. Higby prattled on, unaware to Dusty's sudden change in mood, despite the lack of change in her expression. It went on for probably ten minutes, before a young man came up to Dusty.

"Miss Grayson?" He asked. She turned around. He blushed, "Sorry, I don't mean to bother you, but that gentleman over there said he wanted to talk to you." Dusty's head whipped in that direction, expecting someone like Watson or Ra's Al Ghul, but it was only Bruce, who looked interested while talking to a young model, but when he met Dusty's look, boredom seeped through all the false emotions. She smiled slightly at him, and he motioned with his eyes to a pillar along one of the walls.

Dusty sidled over pausing to say hello to one or two people she recognized, and then after five minutes, she was hidden behind the pillar. Within another five minutes, Bruce had made his way over to her.

"Are you alright? I saw Mrs. Higby talking to you. Did I rescue you in time?" He asked, concern etched his face. Dusty laughed.

"I admit wholeheartedly her conversation skills are domineering and, forgive me, tedious, but I think it's a little risky to 'rescue' me. Especially when gossips fly around here as thick as peanut butter, and it's more than likely for her to find out." Bruce gave her a purposefully sneaky look and then took her by the shoulders.

"Then you would rather have her name attached to yours?" He asked, stepping forward. Dusty stepped back. What was he doing?

"Well, not really." He gave her a leveling look. She sighed, "No. But if I told her that, I think the simpering and fluffy image that I'm trying to build will be dashed forever." He smiled and again stepped closer. Dusty's back hit the cool pillar.

"Neither simpering nor fluffy really fit you." He told her in a whisper.

Her eyes darted to his and held. "Then what does?"

He leaned closer, "Beautiful. Tantalizing." He said, leaning even closer.

She laughed softly, "Why am I suddenly reminded of crepe suzette?" She asked. Bruce drew back mildly.

"You know you just completely ruined the mood?" He asked. Her eyebrows rose, completely aware but nonetheless asking:

"And what mood were you trying to create?" She asked, teasing. He sighed.

"The mood where I would kiss you, all for the benefit of the press and our game, and yet it wouldn't seem awkward like we had planned it." He said, his hands sliding down her arms and taking her hands.

"Oh." She said. Then she dropped her hands from his. "So you could do this?" She asked, before putting her hands on his shoulders and leaning in until their lips touched.

It wasn't a very long kiss. Hardly more than a peck, but when they both drew back, it was slightly difficult for either of them to pretend that they weren't slightly embarrassed.

Dusty straightened Bruce's bowtie and smoothed it. Then she looked up at him, smiling slightly before speaking. "By the way, Bruce, if you could tell me when you're putting plan K into action, it would be helpful. That way I won't think you've sampled the punch." She said, before walking out from behind the pillar, a winning smile resting lightly on her face. A young girl in a white and pink dress came up to her.

"Are you Miss Grayson?" She said, almost swooning. Dusty's eyebrows rose.

"Yes, I am, what do you need?" She asked, trying to keep the laughter out of her face and voice. The girl was almost bowing.

"Did you really win the Junior World Dance Championship when you were 14?" She asked, breathless. Dusty's eyebrows rose even further. How did they remember that she even attended that event?

"I actually came in third." Dusty said. The girl giggled and covered her mouth.

"Damon Richards is here. He said he'd like a dance." Dusty's mouth dropped open. She hadn't seen Damon for almost thirteen years. He'd moved away right after they had come in third and since neither were too constant or patient with writing, they hadn't seen or heard from each other since.

"Where is he?" She asked, looking around calmly.

"Here." She turned around. Raven-haired Damon, still as thin as a twig and with a smile almost too big for his face. She laughed and gave him a hug.

"Oh, Damon, it's been so long!" She said after they had released each other. He shrugged. The both grew silent until they both said in unison.

"Sorry I didn't write." They laughed at that. Then Damon cleared his throat.

"Are you still dancing these days?" She shrugged.

"A little. Now I'm a little busier because I have work, but for the most part, I practice every morning." Damon smiled.

"You were always so dedicated." He said. "Where do you work?" She looked up from where she was attentively studying her glove.

"Oh? Oh. I work in Applied Sciences at Wayne Enterprises." She said. Damon scoffed.

"You're pulling my leg. Justine, last time I saw you, you were anything but a technology nut."

"That's because you chose not to see it." She said, suddenly realizing the real reason that they hadn't been talking to each other for the past decade and a half. As nice as he was, they still behaved like teenagers when they were around each other, and it wasn't exactly the image she wanted to project on her first time out in society since she was nineteen.

Seeing Bruce almost steamrollering his way over to her, she turned back to Damon and said, "Have you met my boyfriend?" She said it loudly enough for Bruce to hear, and out of the corner of her eye, saw Bruce slow to only a determined walk.

Damon's black eyebrows lifted. "Oh, who is he?" He looked around, either not noticing the larger man walking toward him, or not believing that his former dance partner could have such a famous boyfriend - cum - fiancé. Well, he was in for a shock.

"Ah, Bruce!" Dusty said, making her voice sound overly excited, as Bruce came and slipped his arm around her waist, just tight enough to mark his territory to the other man, and yet loose enough that Dusty wasn't uncomfortable. "I'd like you to meet my former dancing partner. This is Damon Richards." She said. Damon and Bruce shook hands. She felt tempted to break between them before either Damon said something rude or Bruce broke Damon's fingers.

She wasn't sure why Bruce was being so protective (except, perhaps, if he was earning the Oscar he obviously deserved for acting like her boyfriend), but right now she was kind of thankful for it, especially since it meant that Damon would now leave her alone. "Damon," She continued, desperately trying not to smirk. "This is Bruce Wayne, my boyfriend."

Bruce nodded politely to the much smaller man, but Damon barely inclined his head. There was an awkward silence, while Dusty looked in between the two men, ready to wrestle them apart. Then Bruce turned to Dusty and said, "I think I should take you home now, Dusty." She took his proffered arm and responded.

"Of course, Bruce. I'll see you around, Damon." She said, giving him a dazzling white smile, and then walked to the coat check with Bruce, making sure that she laid her head briefly on his shoulder.

"You know, Dusty, you're really evil." Bruce said, gently slipping her coat around her shoulders. She looked at him innocently.

"What makes you say that?" She said as they walked from the coat check. He smiled and took her arm again.

"Don't think that I didn't notice your little head-thing as we were walking away. Damon might not forgive you." He said, leaning in and whispering in her ear. She smiled slightly, rather satisfied with herself.

"Well, no one said I was a saint, especially when it comes to being nice to people, especially men." She said, the last part under her breath, as they walked outside, to where the man with Bruce's car was waiting for them.

They were silent on the way home, each thinking about the night's events. Once they got home, Richard ran to Dusty, having escaped from his bedroom, and gave her a huge hug.

"Well, congratulations, Miss Grayson." Alfred said, as he came from the kitchen with three glasses of milk and a plate of scrumptious-looking, fresh chocolate chip cookies on a tray, and ushered them into the dining room.

"On what, precisely, Alfred? My introduction into society, which I could probably have done without, or just surviving my first party?" She said, taking a big bite out of her cookie and wiping the crumbs (and her lipstick) off on a napkin.

"Surviving your first party, naturally. And for a job well done."

"What job?" Bruce asked, suddenly with a suspicion that he'd been used in some way.

"She didn't tear her dress. If I remember the last party she went to, which coincidentally was thrown by Ms. Highbrow as well, she ended tearing almost six inches off the hem."

"Who's Ms. Highbrow?" Rick asked. Dusty rolled her eyes.

"Don't ask. Believe me, you're better off not knowing. She talks for _hours_, and it wasn't my fault I tore the hem..."

* * *

Well. Well, well well...

:D Consider the kiss my present to you for my birthday. Also in honor of my birthday, we'll have another double feature this week.

Thanks to motherduckatschool, suchicken, TwilightEclps, Bryt, PATDfan2012, One Wing Royko (thank you! I appreciate that so much!), and Spelllesswonder29.

You are all awesome.

Please review!

Until next Wednesday!

~Sabre


	16. Chapter Fifteen: The Trials Long Past

Well, here you go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

Dusty woke up at half past eleven. Someone's hand was on her shoulder and was shaking her gently. She grunted and tried to turn over on a bed that seemed harder than normal, but the hand turned her back onto her back.

"Dusty, it's almost lunch time. And you're on the stairs." _That_ made her sit up. Bruce was sitting on the step beside her, smiling. She looked at the clock on the wall in the hallway. 11:35 a.m. She groaned and flopped back onto her back, narrowly escaping bumping her head hard on the floor. Bruce leaned over her.

"So, how do you feel?" He asked. Dusty looked up at Bruce, a contemplative look on her face. She was wearing a plain white T-shirt, and her hair was loose, pooling about her head gently, the curls shining in the light from the chandeliers. She sighed.

"Tired and stiff. I think I slept-walked." She said; he smiled again, brushing a piece of hair off her shoulder.

"Well, I guess if you want, I could let you stay here." He said, lifting himself off the step carefully. Dusty smiled. Then he smiled back.

"But I'm not going to." He said, before grabbing her around the waist and flinging her over his shoulder. "BONZAI!" He shouted and started running down the stairs. Dusty screamed almost involuntarily, then twisted, throwing both of them off balance and sending them tumbling down the stairs, landing on the carpet in the living room. Dusty stopped screaming and then started laughing as well, every once in a while punching Bruce in the arm.

"I swear, I will kill you, Bruce. Some day in a dark alley…" She muttered.

"Well, I won't hang out with you in dark alleys then, will I?" She smiled evilly.

"Or I could totally take you now." She said, shifting herself slightly.

"I dare you." He said back, his voice mock serious. Yelling something in Mandarin Chinese, she dove on him and they catapulted off the edge of the stairs. They were mid-scuffle on the floor, all the time laughing and yelling at each other good-naturedly when the Alfred entered the room. Dusty had one of Bruce's arms behind his back, and was in the process of tying it to the hand rail with the cord from the curtains when the two of them caught Alfred's look as he stepped inside the door to see the two grappling so-called adults.

"So this is what young people do in their spare time. Perhaps if you are both sufficiently awake, you could come to lunch. Miss Grayson, you'd probably had better untie Master Wayne."

"Yes, Alfred," She said, and started untying the sailors' knots she'd used to tie him to the pole. Against his better judgment, Alfred was proud of her. It would've taken an extreme amount of training to best Master Bruce, even if he appeared to be almost getting her. Though, considering what he'd seen her do, especially in training, she never did anything by halves. She studied out whatever she wanted to do in her mind, and then, if she didn't agree with something in it, she would either bag the whole plan, or change the part of the plan that she did not agree with to fit with her own discrepancies.

That, and he'd taught her to tie the knots last week. Admittedly, it was more of a refresher course for her since the Girl Scouts, but it was as if she had such a sponge-like memory that she could bring it back on recall.

Dusty finished untying Bruce from the stair's hand rail, put the curtain tie back where it belonged, and followed Alfred and Bruce down to the kitchen, where he had a lunch of cheese quesadillas set out. Rick was already eating when they got down and waved, his mouth full and salsa dripping off his chin. Dusty picked up a napkin and wiped his chin. He pulled back, trying to get out of reach.

He swallowed, "Morning, Dusty. Alfred made quesadillas. Have one, they're to _die_ for." He said emphatically and stuffed another slice in his mouth with his hands. Dusty smiled and picked up a fork, sliding a slice onto her plate, and then mounding the hottest salsa Alfred had onto the quesadilla. Neatly cutting a slice off, she put it into her mouth.

Bruce watched her carefully for any indication that the salsa was affecting her. After a minute or two she noticed him watching and gave him a look that clearly said, 'What?' He motioned to the salsa that she had chosen.

She nodded in understanding. "My dad loved anything Cajun, Tex-Mex or in short, succulent and spicy. It gave Mom heartburn for days, but my Dad and I would eat it like candy. To this day the only thing that burns the roof off of my mouth is the hottest Indian and Thai food."

"Ah. So, may I ask why you eat the hot foods?" Bruce ask, resting his elbow on the table and pointing his fork at her before Alfred tapped his elbow in reminder.

"Because she's crazy." Rick said. Dusty smiled and ruffled his blonde hair before answering.

"I love the taste. I seriously do. There are some sour and spicy tastes, and some sweet, most of them are sweet, and some of them just have a unique taste of their own. It is just so interesting."

Bruce laughed and leaned back, "So if you weren't a class 'A' assassin you'd a food taster/mechanic?"

Dusty smiled and put another piece of quesadilla in her mouth. "Something like that."

* * *

After lunch, Bruce went to his office to do something he said was boring and work-related. Since it was cold, slushy and windy outside, after their daily workout, Rick and Dusty barricaded themselves in the library with Risk, Settlers of Catan, Monopoly and Chess.

Midway through their game of Monopoly, as Dusty was in the middle of buying Board Walk, Richard looked down, and then asked, "What was Mom like?"

Dusty looked up, confusion and concern etched into her face. She thought about it a moment. "You don't remember her?" She asked.

"Sort of." He sighed. "I've seen pictures, but they don't capture what she was like. Like, what she liked to do, what she didn't like, how she walked, how she talked, what kind of people she got annoyed at, no one can tell me these things!" He said. Pity flashed across Dusty's face. Then she stood.

"I have something to show you." She said, holding out her hand. Rick grabbed her hand and she pulled him to a standing position, and then led him down to her room. Walking into her closet, she reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a videocassette.

"I'm not sure if Alfred has a VCR, but we can ask." She said. She picked up the receiver, and dialed 'one'. Within a few seconds, Alfred answered.

"Miss Grayson, might I help you with something?" He asked.

"Yeah. Do you have a VCR player? I know that it's kind of old, but…" Alfred smoothly cut in.

"It's in the smaller entertainment room. The one with the air hockey table." Dusty's eyebrows rose.

"I didn't know you had an air hockey table."

"Indeed. Master Richard knows where it is, he will show you." He said.

"Thank you, Alfred."

"Will there be anything else, Miss?" He asked.

"No, that's everything. Thank you, Alfred."

"Not at all, Miss." He said, and hung up. Dusty relayed the information to Richard, and he led her to the room with the VCR player. Without further ado, she put the cassette into the VCR. Rick curled up against Dusty, leaning his head on her shoulder.

The screen flickered to life, with Elizabeth Grayson's face smiling at and talking to a small Richard. She looked up at the camera and smiled, waving, indicating the camera to the small boy. Richard gurgled and reached toward the camera, and there was a feminine giggle. Dusty walked up to the mother and son and started tickling the little boy. He laughed and giggled.

The ten-year-old Richard looked up at his twenty-seven-year-old sister. She was looking at the TV, a faraway look in her eyes. He saw tears there as well, and then she closed her eyes, and the tears were gone, replaced by a stony look.

"You know, Rick, I'm going to go put away the games. You can finish watching it if you want." She said, standing, and walking out of the room. She walked out of the room, desperately trying to hold the tears back. She would not cry. She would not cry… She turned the corner into the library when she bumped into Bruce.

"Dusty, are you okay?" He asked. She turned away, pushing away the wisps of hair that were in her face, making sure that all tear-related emotions were hidden away. She smiled.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just going to put away the games we had out earlier." She said, moving to step around him. He touched her shoulder.

"Alfred already did that. Are you sure you're ok?" She lifted her eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She said. The two were silent for a moment.

"Hey, Dusty?" Rick's voice came from behind them. He held out the Video Cassette tape. "Thanks. I didn't finish it, but maybe we could watch more later?"

Her hand closed around it. She looked at her little brother. With a shock that seemed to shake her to her very soul, she realized that she wasn't the only one who had been left alone.

She had been so wrong. She hadn't affected only herself with her problems and her leaving had had an effect on so many people.

_I did the wrong thing_. The thought reverberated around her head like a discordant orchestra.

"Excuse me." She said, turning away from the two others, and escaped into her room.

* * *

Hmm...Well, thanks to all who reviewed: Bryt, Spelllesswonder29, motherduckatschool, Lift the Wings, and Vanafindiel (thanks. Until the second half of the story, the prologue is definitely my favorite chapter...)

Thanks to Bryt, my ever-faithful Beta.

Thanks to all who wished me a happy birthday. My *censored* year has been great so far!...at least for the past four days. ; )

Well, 'see' you this Saturday. Please review!

~Sabre


	17. Chapter Sixteen: A Matter of Family

Well, here's Chapter 16!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

She never wanted to come out. She just wanted to stay in her room forever and ever. Dusty sat on her window seat, her knees drawn up to her chin, and a fleece blanket thrown over her shoulders. It was almost dinnertime, she supposed. The sun was setting, behind the house, and she just sat there.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in." She said. Bruce came in, holding a bowl of soup and closed the door. She looked to see who it was, then turned back to the window.

"Thanks, Bruce, but I'm not hungry." She said, staring out the window at the darkening sky. He sat down in front of her. Then he patted her blanketed feet.

"So, why aren't you hungry?" He asked. She straightened up.

"Excuse me?" She asked; he looked innocent, and handed her the mug of soup.

"Alfred told me to bring this up to you." She took the cup, still not smiling. Bruce touched her cheek. "What's wrong, Dusty?"

She sighed. "Have you ever had the realization, that if you hadn't made a certain choice, the world would probably be a lot better?"

Bruce's face froze. "What do you mean?"

Dusty choked on tears, fighting desperately to keep them from rolling down her face, "I shouldn't have left."

Bruce's expression slipped into an unreadable emotion. He should have seen this coming. But then, what could he have done? She'd been so happy, and then with this morning… Rick had told him what was on the video, and it had basically thrown them into a loop.

Then she started to cry. Tears somehow withheld for eight long years suddenly spun out of her control, and she took a great, gasping breath trying to contain them. Bruce took away the cup and set it on the floor against the wall, and then gathered her into his arms. Dusty sobbed and sobbed, feeling the hurt wash over her in wave after wave, tearing into her soul with all the fury of a thousand man-eating lions. All the suppressed memories surfaced and made her heart hurt more and more, making her head spin, making her wonder what could have possibly possessed her to make such horrible, life-destroying choices.

She leaned into Bruce, crying into his polo shirt, desperately seeking comfort in the emotional storm that raged inside of her. Bruce held onto her tightly, offering what comfort he could, wishing he could do more. He knew that her heart was slowly breaking underneath what must've been years of painful memories.

He was so focused on Dusty that he didn't hear the door open.

"Dusty?" Rick whispered. Bruce turned slightly and saw the ten-year-old standing near the door, arms folded nervously in front of him. He motioned for the young boy to come forward. The young boy sat next to the two adults and touched Dusty's shoulder. She shuddered and then sat up, trying to stop crying.

Without another word, Richard embraced Dusty, thus foiling her plans to stop crying anytime soon, especially with the words, "I love you, Dusty. Whatever you think you did, I forgive you."

With that, Bruce put his arms around the siblings and embraced them both. The feelings he felt were indescribable. There was his unusual regard for Dusty, but he just felt so close to them. Like they were his family. His eyes opened. His family? Was that possible?

_Yes_, he supposed. That was it. From now on, there was no way he could let either of them go without a fight.

* * *

Morning saw Rick and Dusty sleeping snugly on her bed, with Bruce sleeping on the window seat, the top coverlet from Dusty's bed spread over him, from where Alfred had come in and made sure they were all comfortable, and in appropriate situations. Bruce had foregone Batman for once, deciding that he was needed here more.

Bruce woke up first. He looked at the sleeping Graysons and smiled. Richard was curled up against Dusty and she had her arms protectively around him, looking all the world like a tigress protecting her cub. But Dusty was very human. She'd explained to him after Richard had fallen asleep the night before how she had felt the guilt so keenly between both leaving and for the way that things had turned out, and about the reasons that she'd left in the first place.

Suddenly, Rick stirred. He turned over carefully and saw Bruce watching him. He smiled and silently slipped from beneath the covers and took Bruce's hand as they walked out of Dusty's room.

"How was your sleep?" Bruce asked. Rick smiled slightly.

"Good. Hey, Bruce?" He turned to him, "Will be Dusty be okay after this? She –" He paused. Bruce urged with his eyes for Rick to go on. "I remember her promising not to cry. The day that she left. That was the only thing I remembered about her for years. I could see her hurting when she came back. Even when she was happy, she had all of these things locked up inside her. I'm just wondering, now that she let it all go, will she be okay?"

He was supposed to answer that? Of the two of them, he supposed he knew Dusty better than Rick, but he couldn't see the answer to that one.

"Miss Grayson will be fine, sirs." Alfred's deep voice reverberated from behind them. "I find that once she wakes up, she will be better than she has been in a long time. I suspect you will even find her temper improved. Now how about a bit of breakfast?" He asked.

Breakfast was a traditional English breakfast. Dusty came down in her fluffy blue bathrobe and was greeted by all of the 'boys'. She smiled at all of them.

"Morning." She said, seating herself and taking some bacon and toast and making her "heart attack" bacon sandwich. Rick and Bruce were waiting in some sort of anticipation. Dusty looked at both of them and gave them a confused look, "What?"

"I believe, Miss Grayson, they are wondering how you feel after your display of emotion last night." Alfred supplied from behind the stove.

"Oh. Um, I'm fine." She said tentatively. Their expression didn't change. She rolled her eyes, "C'mon guys, it's not like I'm different all of a sudden. Rick, I want you down in gym after breakfast, today we're learning the salsa." She said, wiping her mouth from her very large and greasy bite of her sandwich.

"Like…Salsa dancing?" Bruce asked. Dusty looked up at him.

"Yeah." She said, "I've been teaching Rick how to dance. It's an invaluable skill that more men should know. You're invited to come, if you want to." She said, taking another bite. Bruce looked at her, somewhere between fascination and disgust.

"What?" She said. He shook his head, gesturing at her sandwich.

"I'm just not sure whether to be jealous or disgusted at the fact that you can eat anything you want, and not only last the whole day through on that, but stay the same weight and have a complexion like none other."

She smiled, "The sandwich is my choice, and a well earned comfort. The complexion and metabolism are hereditary."

Bruce laughed. "So, dancing?" He asked. Dusty smiled.

"Dancing."

* * *

Bruce had taken dancing lessons. He really had. But, unlike Dusty, he'd never made too much of a hobby of it. So, for about fifteen minutes while he got back into "the groove" (heaven forbid anyone found out about his using that phrase) he felt very sympathetic to the proverbial fish out of water. However, after that, it was easier than he expected.

"A little smoother, Rick. Try rolling your hip just a little bit more." Dusty said. She looked at Bruce. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.

"What, no criticism?" He asked. She shook her head.

"Earlier on, I would've asked you to stop tripping over your own feet, but now I see you've re-found your style."

"Re-found?"

She smiled, a sliver of defensiveness in it, "I know an experienced dancer when I see one, Bruce. It was one of the original sports that I studied, and one that I have consistently studied for almost twenty years."

He smiled, "Fine." He said, and resumed practicing his footwork. In another hour, the official lesson for Rick ended. Dusty switched the music as Rick finished stretching and ran out of the room, yelling his thanks. Bruce smiled as Dusty then started her own Salsa dancing routine. He'd seen the beginnings of this routine that she'd been teaching to Richard, and as it happened he'd also learned it somewhere. As she moved to music, he faced a small decision.

Or a rather large one. Join her, or not? He knew the routine, and she'd helped him remember it. As the music picked up, he made his decision, and caught her as she was going into a place where the ladies were usually dipped. Recovering from her surprise in record time, her body stiffening slightly, and surprise flashing across her face, she went along with it. Boy, she knew how to salsa.

Dusty was rather stymied at the fact he knew this dance; let alone how to do it as well as he was doing. As the song finished, and she was dipped, arched over Bruce's arm, she realized that she hadn't danced with a partner in almost a year. Considering that, she had done better than she practically ever had. True, she had peaked during her third year at TMFA, but boy, it felt good. She looked up into Bruce's face, and he took her hands. Her heart beat faster and faster.

The next song started. It wasn't a dancing song, and for once Dusty was glad that she'd put some Kelly Clarkson on this CD. Pulling away gently, she walked to the wall and started doing her ending stretches. Bruce looked at Dusty for a moment, a carefully solemn look planted on her face, stretching clear over her head to touch her opposite leg.

There was something there. Something he couldn't identify. Was it…discomfort? Or unease? Those were two emotions that were not usually found on Dusty's face. He wanted to call her on it, to see why she was acting so closed off. While they were dancing, she'd been relatively open, he'd thought. Maybe it was just him. Dusty wasn't the sort of person that opened up easily, even if she had had an emotionally clearing experience. Given what she had gone through, and what she was going through presently with Watson, it wasn't surprising.

He shook himself, and then started to stretch out himself, on the other side of the room, trying hard not to watch Dusty through the mirrors that were on all of the walls.

Emotions were confusing.

* * *

Another shippy chapter....I didn't realize when I wrote it I'd put so many in one after another...

Hmm...

Well, anyway, thanks to all my reviewers: Lift the Wings, Motherduckatschool, Bryt, Spelllesswonder29, and PATDfan2012. You seriously make my day, every day.

Also, thanks to my lovely beta Bryt, and for putting up with me (once again) for not getting the chapter in on time... Life has been hectic.

Well, thanks to you all! Please review, it is always appreciated!

~Sabre


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Fear in Red

Well, here you go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

Valentine's Day

At the moment, in the midst of a dinner/dance party, being the focus of two weeks worth of gossip, in magazines and just about everywhere else as well, about her and Bruce, Dusty was trying hard to resist the urge to either kill someone, or just run away and hide for the next eight years. There were two problems with her plans: The first was illegal, and immoral for that matter, and the second was impossible due to the vice grip Bruce had her hand in. To the casual observer, the two 'lovers' were just holding hands. However, to Dusty, a participant, his firm grip was bordering on uncomfortable and it was all she could do to stop herself from shaking him off.

It wasn't really him; it was the fact that neither of them wanted to be there, and the people here weren't exactly helping the matter. Truth be told, their 'you're so wonderful, please let me fawn over you because you have money' approach was getting old really fast. She'd never been a people person in the first place and to have people jumping all over her was pulling her toward a very unpleasant edge.

"So, tell us, Justine, why of all people did you choose Bruce? Before you, he wasn't very constant, you know." Mrs. Higby said, taking advantage of the fact that Bruce was talking to others. Dusty smiled gracefully.

"He just seemed genuine with me. I've been around a lot of people, and learned to read emotions. He's telling the truth."

"It seems a very big step to be living with him, though. A lot of people would disapprove of that, you know." Ah ha. Something Dusty had wanted to set straight for ages.

"Actually, the reason I'm staying at his house before we're married is because I don't have an apartment of my own. Besides, my younger brother Richard is staying with us, and Rick can't come visit as often if I were to live on my own. Bruce is a perfect gentleman, though and he would not give me any reason to be ashamed of myself whatsoever. And I'm very grateful to him for that." She gave Mrs. Higby a friendly but challenging look, daring her to attack her integrity any longer. Mrs. Higby's red-painted lips formed an 'O' and she was silent.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dusty saw another young lady walk up. Unlike most of the young ladies present, she wore dark colors. Her black hair was up in a classic up do, and her dark eyes made her seem sultry and yet deadly at the same time. There was something familiar about her. Glancing at the girl's hands, she suddenly figured out why.

"Bruce?" Dusty whispered into his ear, "I'm going to go over to the refreshment table. All right?" He nodded, released her hand, and turned back to his conversation. Dusty started walking to the refreshment table, and chose a path that would send her right near her.

She almost didn't make it. The young lady was moving so fast, that she nearly had to break into a faster walk than what would be deemed duly proper. As they passed, Dusty turned and spoke her name.

"Selina? Selina Kyle?"

The young lady turned around. "Are you talking to me?" She asked, her voice exactly as Dusty had remembered it. Dusty walked forward.

"You know who you are, Selina. Now," She took the switchblade from the young lady's hands, "Tell me why you're here." Selina moved lightning fast, but Dusty grabbed her wrist before it moved above her waist. The movement was fast, but unobtrusive, especially to the type of people who they were around.

"Let me go." Selina said in a low voice. Dusty didn't loosen her hold.

"First tell me what you were doing. Generally people, even members of the League of Shadows, don't carry around switchblades. Planning on killing someone?" Dusty's look was dangerous. Selina backed down hurriedly.

"No. Just staking out some territory for my teacher." She said, somewhat unwillingly. Dusty's eyes darkened. It wasn't fear, but it was something abominably close.

"Is Watson here?" She asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"No." Selina whispered back. Then she looked around. "But I shouldn't be talking to you anyway. Montague is here."

"Montague? But he doesn't even speak English!" Dusty said. Selina laughed.

"You're behind the times, Grayson. He's fluent now, and he's right over there on the group talking to your boyfriend." Dusty, still keeping a firm grip on Selina's wrist, whipped the younger girl around in front of her to look at Bruce, all the while making it look like they were both casually looking. There he was. Montague, the slickest, fastest, and pretty much the handsomest recruit of the League.

Then she turned Selina back toward her. "What are you planning?" She asked roughly yet softly, keeping her face carefully neutral as her grip tightened. Selina winced.

"Nothing – yet. Watson knew you'd be here. Face it, Grayson; you're all over the news with Wayne. He sent me here with Montague to give you a message, and to make sure you got it."

"And what is the message?" Dusty said in low voice. Selina reached into her pocket with her left hand and pulled out a small envelope. Gently pushing the younger woman to stand farther away from her, Dusty took the small envelope.

"I'd run if I were you." Selina said, her dark eyes serious. "Watson's coming, and he's losing patience with you, Grayson. Run while you can so no one else will get hurt."

Dusty closed her eyes briefly. "I made a decision, Kyle. There's nothing I can do about that. Whether he's able to accept that, or if he has to bring the whole of Gotham City into it isn't my concern. But if he does, I am not to blame."

Selina's eyes glittered maliciously. "Grayson, if I'm on the task force, I promise you, I-"

Dusty stepped forward, her dark red dress swishing, cutting Selina off without saying a word. The switchblade sat coolly in the palm of her hand. Pressing the switch, the blade flicked out. Turning it around deftly, Dusty handed it hilt first back to the younger woman. "Don't make any promises you can't keep, Selina. I don't know what you went through to drive you to the mountains, so I can't judge, but murder isn't something you should partake in. It destroys you." She said, her voice soft.

Selina looked at Dusty with disdain. "You've never killed anyone. How could you possibly know?"

Dusty looked down and then up, her face stiff and expressionless, "You know, Selina. I told you. Whether you partake in it, witness it, or are in part of a group who condones it, it warps you just the same. That is my warning. Now go, before I call security."

"Even if they could subdue me, how could they hold me legally?" She said. Dusty slightly smirked.

"Possession of a hidden illegal weapon. Now go." Dusty turned and walked to the refreshment table. Selina wouldn't attack her. Not without orders, and certainly not in a public place. Nevertheless, she was on guard, and therefore jumped when Bruce touched her shoulder.

"What is it?" She asked, trying to draw attention away from the fact that she was nervous. Bruce shrugged.

"Not sure. You were just standing here looking rather…tense. Is something wrong?" Dusty put a smile on her face and slipped the small envelope in her waist sash.

"Not really, just wishing it was over. I didn't think it was legal to have this much pink in one room." She said, sighing. "What time is it?" She asked. The two of them had a deal on this particular party. Neither of them had to stay past ten.

"Nine thirty." Bruce said, looking around. "By the way, who was the black haired girl you were talking to?" Dusty looked up in mild alarm. She covered her expression with a question.

"Why?" It was mildly accusing, for both Bruce's benefit as well as for anyone who was listening. Also, because it was interesting to see Bruce back pedal.

"Oh, no reason. You just seemed to know her." He said. Dusty swallowed surreptitiously.

"Well, I knew her when I was younger. People I know are always cropping up now. Sometimes I don't know where I ever met so many people." She said, taking a sip of water. Bruce smiled.

"It comes with the job. Come on, as long as you have to meet people, come meet Mr. Banks. He's one of the supplies managers."

Dusty smiled slightly sarcastically. "Oh goodie. Is he any sort of sensible person?" She asked. Bruce snorted quietly.

"Only if you're not as smart as he is. You are, so brace yourself. And for goodness sake, don't get him started on the stock market. You will be here until the party ends."

"Oh." Then, both of them were saved, in a manner of speaking, when there was an announcement over the loudspeaker.

"We would like to ask that the dance floor be cleared so the dancing can begin, thank you. If Mr. Damon Richards and his partner could make their way to the stage to prepare for the exhibition, that would be wonderful, thank you."

The last thing Dusty would've expected was to feel a hand at her elbow and to see the aforementioned person holding his hand out.

"Justine? Will you?" he asked. Dusty's eyes nearly bugged out with disbelief, bordering on fury.

"I can't!"

"You can!"

"I can't!"

"You can!"

"I can't!"

"You have to." She looked up at Bruce, praying that he didn't just say what she thought he said.

"I don't even know what dance you're doing! And besides, I don't have my shoes!" She said furiously. This was so like Damon. One would think thirteen years would change someone, for instance, help them grow up and have them ask them to do a dance _before_ the night that they're needed. Apparently he hadn't changed a bit.

"Quickstep." Damon said, holding up a pair of Anna Capezios. She sighed. Of course she knew it. But performing in front of a crowd was not the sort of thing that she'd been looking forward to doing that day.

"Fine." She said. "But you owe me. Big." Dusty touched Bruce's arm as she passed, and Damon and Dusty walked around the big empty dance floor to the stage. There, Damon quickly and briefly outlined the dance.

"Just follow my lead." He said.

"I can do that." She said. Then he led her out onto the dance floor. It was interesting to dance with Damon again. It had, after all, been thirteen years. They quietly walked out to the middle of the dance floor and took their stance. Dusty loved the quickstep. There was just something exhilarating that made her feel very nimble as she danced and leaped around.

The music started and they whirled off. Bruce had danced with Dusty, but he was amazed as he watched her dance with her. The two dancers were almost like one person. He felt slightly jealous, watching her dance. Finally, when the dance was over, Dusty came back over to Bruce, her face slightly flushed.

"So, how did it go?" She asked him.

"Wouldn't you know a little better than I would?" He asked, giving her the glass of water she'd thrust into his hands earlier. She murmured her thanks, half words, and half bubbles as she downed the whole thing. Once she was done, she set down the glass.

"Not really. I generally try to forget what I'm doing so I don't make so many mistakes." She said, taking a deep, calming breath. Bruce smiled. He patted her shoulder.

"I enjoyed it. Would you like to dance slowly now?" He asked, holding out his hand. She took it.

"I would love to." She said and he led her out onto the dance floor.

* * *

Once they got home, and Dusty was safely in her room, she nearly ripped open the envelope. Once she scanned the contents, she had to fight to keep her heart from beating so fast through fear that it burst through her chest. Putting the letter on her bedside table, she walked to the bathroom.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Well, here you go.

Sorry, Bryt, for not getting this to you. Exams have been playing havoc with my schedule.

Thanks to motherduckatschool, Spelllesswonder29, Lift the Wings, Bryt, PATDfan2012, and all those who added me to their Story Alert/Favorite Stories list. I really always appreciate it.

Please review!

Happy Holidays,

~Sabre


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Truth and Lies

Sorry for the delay. Fully explanation is at the bottom.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Batman waited on the rooftop, crouched on the edge of the building like a giant monster ready to pounce, despite the freezing mid February air rushing past him. Lieutenant Gordon wasn't there yet, but it gave him a chance to look around. He stepped carefully around the roof.

"Batman?" He looked back to where Gordon was standing and billowed over. Gordon looked at the large looming black shape in front of him, unafraid, despite the menacing appearance.

"What have you got for me?" Batman said, his low gravelly voice grating against Lieutenant Gordon's ears. Gordon pulled out a small paper.

"Mike Dennison from the Bomb Squad was attacked last night. We don't know who it was, whoever attacked him was too quick for him to see, but he or she left this note." He handed the plastic covered, blood-spattered paper to Batman. Reading it carefully, he committed the chilling message to memory.

_Dressed in Black_

_Five Score Marching_

_Hiding Dragon_

_Destiny Arching_

_Give us the Dragon_

_Relinquish the sword_

_Keep the Dragon_

_Fear the horde_

"What does it mean?" Gordon asked. Batman shook his head.

"Not sure. It's a threat. Have you confiscated any large bombs lately, that this bomb squad member would have had a part in?"

"No. We had a relatively large one we cleaned up two days ago, but other than that, there wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary. There's always something exploding in Gotham these days."

"We'll get it done. Any news on Crane?" Batman ground out. Gordon shook his head.

"He must have found somewhere good to hide, because he hasn't been found anywhere. We had a small lead, but it turned out to be nothing."

"What was the lead?"

"Someone thought he saw him on the east side, near the Narrows, but he couldn't verify that it was Crane, and we didn't find anything noteworthy in the area when we searched it."

"We have to set out more of a reward. I'll talk to one of my sources, which I know will donate handsomely into the reward fund. That will at least draw the more desperate into looking. We'll find him."

"Very good." Gordon said, "Good luck."

* * *

Dusty shivered in the damp night air. Mid February at night wasn't the best time to be outside, but she had to do something. Slipping through the house had been easy enough; she was familiar enough with it that the only real obstacle was to not wake up Alfred, who it seemed never slept.

But finally she made it outside and slipped through the gate. She wasn't aware that Alfred had seen her, and was now making a call.

"Master Bruce?"

"Alfred?" The confusion in Bruce's voice was evident. Then it took on a tone of urgency. "Is it Dusty?" He asked.

"She just left." The butler confirmed, "She's headed straight to Gotham along the road. She took some rope, a few weapons, and I believe went in full regalia. I have the GPS turned on. You should find her whereabouts on your portable module."

On the other end of the connection, as he checked the scanner, Bruce's eyes darkened. "She's making an uncharacteristic move." They had been thinking it would be months before she would go out by herself for whatever reason, and heading to an old decrepit building for who knows why was considered a serious sidestep in character.

"Indeed, sir. Shall I go after her myself, or would you rather take care of this yourself?" Alfred asked, moving in the general direction of the garage.

"I better take care of this. If she needs back up, or if she needs to be convinced, it'll be best if she has someone with training coming in after her."

"Indeed, sir. Do tell her what she needs to know." Alfred said. "And try your best not to offend her when you suggest she stay amongst company. You get enough bruises without getting them from friends as well."

Bruce's face smoothed slightly as his habitual scowl melted, "I'll try."

"Very well, sir. I'll see you when you get back."

* * *

Dusty made it into Gotham at half past midnight. It had taken her shorter than she had expected to get there, and she was already navigating the streets with increasing confidence. Her fierce appearance kept prospective troublemakers away, and she soon reached the far side of her destination.

She reached for the rope and the grapple gun. Pointing the gun over head and aiming carefully, she fired. She winced as the hook clanged against the building. Then she stretched it taut, and started to climb, gathering the rope around herself as she went. After about a minute and a half she had scaled the four-story building.

She froze for a minute, as she slid over the side of the building. Setting the rope up for a quick escape, she crept to the skylight. On the landing below there were two guards. And cement walls were everywhere. She silently fumed. Of all the modern cement piles, this had to be the worst.

Suddenly there was a whooshing sound. Dusty ducked down behind a nearby chimney and went still. There were soft footsteps on the roof, as if someone were taking a few steps and scanning the area carefully.

"Grayson." It wasn't anyone she knew, but who knew what that meant? It had been fifteen months since she'd been in Tibet. Somehow, the voice didn't frighten her, but it was a fierce, growl like sound that by no means drew her out into the open. She stayed silent, and still, knowing that she was invisible. Carefully, slowly, inch-by-inch she eased her head up to where she could see her hunter.

It was the Batman. His long cape billowed behind him as he walked slowly forward carefully looking around, making sure that he checked every cranny possibly big enough to hide a human, and took a look inside others just to make sure.

"Grayson, I have message from Bruce Wayne." He ground out. Dusty froze. He knew Bruce? It was now or never. If he proved to be an enemy she would probably die, unless she threw herself through the skylight. But he knew Bruce. He couldn't be that bad, could he? Bracing herself for a sudden death, she took off her hood and stood silently.

"Batman?" She said. He turned around. He surveyed her armor, with the dragon etching in the leather and metal across her shoulders. Then his dark eyes locked with hers for a moment. "You said Bruce had a message for me?"

"Yes." He growled, "He told me to tell you that you were in danger, and to go back to the manor immediately."

Dusty opened her mouth, almost indignant. The Batman interrupted her, "It's not safe here, especially for you. I can take you as far as the edge of Gotham, but from there you need to get back to the manor as fast as you possibly can. Don't leave alone again until you hear from me."

"Why?" Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Someone is out to get you."

"I know that. I came to negotiate." Her voice was hard.

"These people aren't interested in negotiating, Grayson. They want to kill you." Dusty's face lost all emotion.

"I know that too. But if I don't give myself up, they will destroy Gotham."

"Many people have tried to destroy Gotham. It's more stalwart than most people give it credit for." He said. Thunder rumbled again, and a cold rain started to fall. "But you are an asset to Gotham while you are alive."

Her forehead furrowed. "How?" The wind billowed Batman's cape, and lightning flashed, lighting up his profile. Even to Dusty, who wasn't small at all, this man was very large.

"You can identify most of the people who would be involved, correct?" Dusty nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"And you could help subdue them, if necessary?" She nodded yet again. She started to see what he was getting at.

"So you want me to help bring the League down in Gotham?' She asked. He nodded.

"They have infiltrated every level of our infrastructure. Since you have access to every level, I'll need your help."

"Why haven't you asked Bruce Wayne?" She asked.

"Mr. Wayne has done, and is doing, much for Gotham, but he is in the spotlight of the media, and would present an easy target for anyone who wanted to bring him down. He can't effectively do anything as himself."

"I'm his girlfriend. What makes you think that I could do anything?"

"You can dip out of the spotlight if you want. The press knows you as a well-dressed lady who works at Wayne Enterprises. They don't know your talents, or the fact that you can become completely invisible." Dusty's eyes went down.

"You just said you didn't want me going out alone. Why are you now telling me to traipse the city of Gotham at night?" She said, holding her hands out from her body, in the body language of an innocent question.

"Because you wouldn't be yourself." She looked up, her forehead creased.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I can't protect Gotham by myself. I need someone with the same abilities as myself to stand with me to create peace once more in Gotham." He said, turning away from Dusty and crossing to the edge of the roof. "Are you coming?" He asked.

"Where are we going?" Dusty replied. He looked back.

"I'll take you to the edge of Gotham, and then let you get home from there." She nodded. Then she walked over beside him. He turned to her.

"Where's your rope? We'll need it." He said. Once she had retrieved it, he cut the thirty-five foot rope in half, and tied it in a complicated sort of harness around his chest. Then he turned to her. "Tie the rest of that rope in a basic passenger skydiving harness with a loop in back." Wordlessly, she did so, making sure all the knots were tight.

"OK, turn around. I'm going to tie us together." He growled. The hairs on the back of Dusty's neck rose.

"This might be a silly question, but how are we getting down?" She asked, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt.

"How do bats get around?" He asked from behind her.

"They fly." She whispered, and slipped on her hood. He guided her toward the edge of the building. Positioning her in a much similar way to the tandem skydiving position, he pulled her close and tightened a few ropes.

"Smart girl." He said and pushed her forward into a jump. As they fell, Dusty vaguely realized that she had no idea what knot he tied, and she could have just jumped to her death. But then, as the Batman's wings snapped open, they pulled up and automatically Dusty streamlined her body parallel to the Batman's.

"I'll fly by the rope and let you down about ten feet up. If you flip forward as the rope releases then you should make it to the ground safely." He said loudly. She nodded to show she understood.

The flight was exhilarating. Besides the physical exertion of keeping herself in a horizontal position, it was almost relaxing. The Batman was obviously used to flying in this way, and he was able to keep complete control, despite the rain, wind and extra weight. They got there very quickly, scarcely longer than fifteen minutes.

"Letting go in 3…2…1!" Dusty felt the rope let go, and flipping forward, she twisted around, trying to slow herself down before she hit the ground. She landed lightly on her feet and stood to show her benefactor that she was safe, and then headed into the woods beside the road. After she freed herself from the ropes that held her up, she packed them away and started to walk.

It was a slightly miserable walk back to the Manor. However, at slightly before two she was walking up to the manor on the driveway. As she reached the front of the house, she slipped discreetly inside.

The lamps were dimly lit in the hallway. As she wiped her feet, she slipped her mask off. Almost as soon as she did so, someone spoke.

"Dusty?" It was Bruce. She looked up, smoothing her hair self-consciously. Bruce ran up and embraced her. "Dusty, where were you? I've been looking for you since eleven thirty." Reflexively, Dusty embraced him back, feeling rather odd in her distinctly wet armor, and especially with her leather gloves on.

"I was outside. I couldn't sleep, so I figured I would go running." She said. "Sorry I worried you."

He pulled back, "You were running in your armor? With weapons?" She shrugged.

"I was practicing a little too. It was good practice. That way I'll always have the strength to run around in it." She smiled. Hidden far beneath her smile was also a very humble thanks that she'd hidden her grappling hook and rope outside in a bush where she could smuggle it in later. Though to tell the truth, she'd been expecting Alfred to open the door. But neither of them could know what she really had been up to.

Bruce smiled, "All right. Could you leave a note or something next time?" Dusty smiled.

"I could do that."

* * *

All right, so... the truth is, I went on vacation, and I thought that I would be able to update. Truth of the matter, during those three weeks, I was away from the internet for two of them, and the last I was so busy that I barely had time to check my e-mail before I was hustled out the door.

Sorry. I promise I'll do better in the future.

Thanks to Bryt, motherduckatschool, and Spelllesswonder29. You guys are amazing.

Thanks to all those who added me on story alert.

And thanks again to Bryt, my awesomely awesome Beta.

Please review!

~Sabre


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Anxiously Engaged

Yay! I updated!!

Just Kidding. Please Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

March 19

The next month passed by in a flash. Dusty was in a struggle to find sleep between Rick, who had thankfully gone back to school so he wasn't at home alone all day, work, and her Batman activities. She usually never saw Batman, but he would constantly be sending her gadgets to fix, which would take up even more of her time, pulling her into a more tangled mess. But she managed it. Memories of the days that she would only sleep five hours a night came back, and in truth became a reality. But, just like last time, she thrived.

But she didn't know why. By all accounts of human nature, and the stress she was going through from keeping everyone from knowing what was going on with whatever part of her life that they weren't aware of, she should have been sick and losing the battle to ever live a life without therapists and insanity. Of course, with Bruce around, especially playing irresistible hunk/boyfriend, she was already seriously losing the bid for sanity. If it weren't for the fact that it would have cut into her already minimal sleeping hours, she thought she might actually stay up worrying or at least thinking about it.

It was just so weird. He was constantly invading her thoughts, and the thoughts that she was having of him were leaning more on the side of John Wayne and Leading Lady than the Fox and the Hound. To tell the truth, it was bothering her. It was almost as if she were falling in love with the dashing, debonair Bruce that he showed the public, as well as his quiet side that he showed her and Rick.

It was all just so weird.

At least Rick was okay with the whole 'pretend Dusty and Bruce are in love' thing. He was actually a modest actor, and she had to admit the interview he did for The Gotham Socialite was very cute. However, she had been slightly embarrassed when he had told her that the part where he'd said that he liked both Bruce and Dusty so equally that he couldn't have chosen between them was true.

But he hadn't exactly argued when they told him that they weren't making him make a public appearance the day they made the announcement. In fact something along the lines of "good riddance" was spoken, and accompanied with a rush up to his room to keep working on his mystery project, which as of yet no one but him knew what it was.

So here she was, sitting in the limo trying to delay the inevitable. Trust Bruce to get a press conference for his engagement announcement.

Bruce touched Dusty's arm. She looked up. "Are you okay?" He asked, his voice low and his eyes intense.

She breathed deeply. "If I'm not, it doesn't really have any bearing on whether or not we're going out there. But, yes, before I convince myself that I'm not, I'm okay."

"Then let's go. I think we've kept these people waiting long enough." He said and opened the door.

"Good luck, Sir, Miss." Alfred said as Bruce stepped out. Dusty smiled at Alfred through the rearview mirror and mouthed 'Thanks' before stepping out of the car. The flashes of the cameras were almost blinding, and she was vaguely reminded of her one -month stint as a teen model before she decided she didn't like it. She still didn't like it. Bruce had his arm around her as they both waved and walked into Wayne Enterprises, where the numbers dwindled, but there was still a large amount of photographers.

As she and Bruce made their way into the ballroom where a platform was set up, the number of reporters and photographers dwindled even further, until there were only about thirty teams of reporters and photographers, compared to the hundreds that were outside, and the noise softened to almost a silence, except for the quiet muttering between photographers and reporters. Dusty and Bruce went and seated themselves behind the podium on the stand. After a few minutes, an announcer got up.

"Hello, and welcome to Mr. Wayne's press conference. If you could please ask your questions one at a time after Mr. Wayne is done with his initial statement and after Miss Grayson comes to the stand, that would be great. Thank you. Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce stood up and walked to the podium. "Thanks, Jerry." He said, addressing the announcer, "Well, anyway, I'd just like make this short and sweet and just say that despite everyone's expectations that I would stay a very eligible bachelor forever, last week I proposed to Miss Justine Grayson, the daughter of the late Dwayne and Elizabeth Grayson, and she accepted." He turned back to Dusty and smiled his Prince Charming smile. Dusty smiled back, feeling her heart flutter unwillingly in her chest.

He held out his hand, "Would you like to come up, Justine?" He asked her. She nodded as she stood and walked over to Bruce as he took her hand and held it tightly, sending warm waves of reassurance through her body. Then he turned back to the sea of reporters. "I'll take your questions now." One particularly quick gentleman raised his hand. Bruce pointed at him.

"You in the blue striped tie."

"When did you first meet Miss Grayson?" Bruce looked at Dusty. This (thankfully) was one of the things they had discussed. They also both had permission from the other that if they needed to make something up, which admittedly not very likely, they could.

"I first met her last November when she was hired for Wayne Enterprises."

Another man raised his hand. Bruce pointed to him.

"What is Miss Grayson's job at Wayne Enterprises?" He asked. Bruce guided Dusty forward with his hand. She leaned forward and spoke into the microphone.

"I work as the Assistant Manager in Applied Sciences." She said, and then backed down. After that, Bruce answered most of the questions. It took an hour before the press was duly satisfied with the answers that they had. After they were done, Jerry the announcer stood back up and closed the meeting. As they walked out the door the room was silent. Dusty put up her hand and showed them the diamond ring that now rested on her left hand.

Then the room erupted into cheering. After the cheering died down, the security started a path, while the reporters started to shout questions. Then one voice rang out louder than the rest.

"Hey Bruce! Give us a kiss!" The voice shouted. Still solidly in character as Prince of Gotham, he turned to Dusty, drew her quickly in close and planted a not-so-brief, _very_ thorough kiss on her lips.

Trained she might have been, but female she was also. Dusty's knees weakened under the tremors that her flowing through her heart and soul, and unconsciously moved her hands up Bruce's arms and wound them around his neck. By the time she was released, she had sunk nearly completely into her little world where this romance was real, Watson wasn't hunting her down, and, most of all, where Bruce loved her back.

She looked up at Bruce after he released her. His green eyes searched hers, for an answer to which she didn't know the question. She looked down and almost as quickly the mood was dropped.

And suddenly they remembered where they were. Slipping their masks on, they turned to the wildly cheering crowd of reporters and after being asked more questions, and having more pictures taken, they were – at LONG last - allowed to leave the building. The ride back to the house was silent. Not even Alfred spoke as they rode back to the manor.

"That was…Interesting." Bruce said, after the doors closed, not sure whether he was referring to the kiss or the experience of the press conference. Dusty made a noise of agreement, and started toward the stairs.

"Dusty?" Bruce called. Dusty looked up and toward him, her heartbeat quickening.

"Yes?" She asked softly, bringing herself into an unconscious stop. He walked toward her.

"About the kiss-" Bruce started. She interrupted him, fighting to keep her voice calm.

"It's okay. I have to go get changed." With that said, she walked up the stairs as quickly as it was possible to do in three inch stilettos, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Once she got to her room, she leaned against the door.

_What just happened?_

Her heart hurt. Until now she'd been able to deny the feelings that had been rising within her. But then he had to go ruin everything. Again. Dusty sank to the floor, her hands covering her face, her knees drawn up to her chest, and her back against the door, as if by leaning against it all of her problems would stay out of her room.

But she couldn't stay there forever. Sighing, she stood, kicking off her heels and walked to her bathroom. Again, the question nagged at her.

_What just happened?

* * *

_

Bruce slammed his hand on the desk. He'd ruined everything. Again. He'd let his feelings for Dusty take control of him, and had hurt them both in the process. It was just too much. Between spending both his days and nights with Dusty, witnessing her genius almost all the time, and learning to love both sides of her, it wasn't really a big surprise that he had been pulled in so much.

But only one side of him could have her, and that was just for pretend. Once she found out that he was Batman, even that relationship would be strained to the limit. He wasn't looking forward to it, but he just couldn't tell her. He couldn't bring himself to.

"Bruce?" He looked up. Rick waited at the door to be granted entrance. He waved him in.

"What's the matter, Rick?" Bruce said at the obviously troubled Rick. Rick came forward and hugged Bruce around his middle.

"What would you say if I told you that my thing that I was working on was done?" He said. Bruce raised his eyebrows.

"Well, I would say congratulations. Why?" Bruce suddenly had a very bad feeling. He gently pushed Rick back to bend down and look him in the eye.

"Well, I went down to eat lunch, and now I can't find it." Rick said, twisting his fingers in a gesture very much like Dusty's. Bruce gave Rick a very worried look.

"Please don't tell me that it was a pet, _please_ don't tell me it was a pet." Bruce said, pleading, imagining a pet mouse or bat running around the house biting people, and then dying in the worst place imaginable, for instance, Alfred's petunia plants, or one of the air vents.

"Um, actually it wasn't a pet, really." Rick said, "It was a little machine. I left the motor running, and the radio waves that controls it sometimes picks up signals from other frequencies, and… You're not mad are you?" Bruce almost laughed at the look on the young boy's face.

"No, I'm not mad. But we should probably tell Dusty that there's an escaped robot on the loose."

"Well, actually it's more of a remote controlled tank." Rick said. "That shoots water balloons. I loaded it for the first time right before lunch." Bruce raised his eyebrows.

"Maybe we should tell Alfred first."

* * *

Well, there you go!

Thanks to bookworm2011, PATDfan2012, Spelllesswonder29, and motherductatschool for reviewing. May I please make a special request now that if you read this chapter, please review. I am so grateful for everyone that has, but I really would like everyone's opinion. Whether it be a simple 'it's good' or a severe telling-off how I didn't make the characters realistic, or they're all insane, or I need to be strung up by my toes for trying to write (though it would be nice if it was said a little more tactful than that...). I would like to know, because each bit of criticism or encouragement helps me become a better writer.

Now that I've bored you to tears, thanks to all those who put me on their story alert.

Thanks for reading! Please review!

~Sabre


	21. Chapter Twenty: Heart and Soul

Sorry for the late update, FF. net was having issues.

Anyway, please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty

Alfred had already found the little robot, currently sitting innocently in the solarium, waiting for some unsuspecting radio signal to guide it into chaos. Unsure of what it actually did, he came around from behind (at least away from the part that looked like a gun was pointing) and poked it with the broom handle.

Nothing happened. He cautiously stepped around it.

"Alfred?" He jumped to see Dusty standing in the doorway, leaning in. Then her eyes caught onto the little robot. "What is that?"

Alfred surveyed it cautiously, "I'm not completely sure, but since Mr. Grayson has been the one assembling mystery products, I would be willing to assume that it is his little contraption."

Dusty smiled. "True. Do you want me to check it out? It seems to be…docile right now." She said, tip-toeing around the room to come over by Alfred.

"Well, I would normally say yes, but I believe I see a water balloon down that cannon affixed there. I would say at least don a rain coat, and then after I take all the paintings out, you can 'have at thee' with the little monster."

Dusty smiled. "Or we can just go get Rick and ask him to take care of it. Though it doesn't seem like him to leave stuff around the house like this. You've taught him pretty well to put things away."

"True enough." Alfred said. Suddenly faint shouting came into hearing, quickly escalating into a booming clamor. Alfred listened for a moment, the waited. After about five seconds, he stepped out into the hall, and remarked in a loud, clear voice, "If one would care to notice, the echoic qualities in this house are uncanny if one would just speak clearly and in a _regular_ tone."

The wordless bellowing stopped. Then within two minutes, with Alfred standing formidably, arms folded, a feather duster firmly in one hand, Rick and Bruce skidded up, looking around.

"Did you find it?" Rick asked. Bruce elbowed him. Alfred raised his eyebrows.

"If you are referring to that threatening little apparatus in the solarium, that is aimed at the priceless paintings in the corner, then, yes, I found it."

There was sudden whoosh and shriek from inside the solarium. On further inspection, taking place in the next three and a half seconds, they found Dusty, now laughing so hard she was in danger of damaging her liver, sopping wet, and sitting in the middle of a puddle on the solarium floor. Thankfully (for both her and Rick) the floor was tiled and she had tilted the little robot toward her so the paintings were safe.

"Rick, this thing is genius." She said, shaking back the wet strands of her hair. "I am so going to have you on my team for the annual water fight."

Bruce, Rick and Alfred looked at each other. "Water fight?" Rick asked, somewhat cautiously.

Dusty smiled, "Family tradition. I've never missed it. Well, not when family is around." She said, and stood, water dripping off the cuffs of her jeans and her jacket. As she walked out of the room she turned back and asked, "Just out of curiosity, how do you get that much water in one balloon?"

Rick shuffled his feet. "Actually it was three." She smiled reflectively.

"Oh." With that, Dusty shuffled down the hall, water plinking off her cuffs the whole way up to her room, laughing softly the whole way.

* * *

Dusty had never been quite so thankful for little brothers as she was at the moment. Unbeknownst to the little boy, he'd dispelled any awkward feelings that had existed for now between her and Bruce. Luckily as well, the next day was Rick's birthday, and Bruce had to go out of town for a business trip for two weeks. By the time he got back, it would be Easter, and all they would have to do was go out with each other to the Easter Ball.

Also unbeknownst to Rick, she had every intention of building her own robotic water cannon. Only about ten times bigger. After she'd changed for the second time that day, she sat down at her large desk, and started doodling away, making sure that it had the special touches of a patented Dusty Grayson machine.

After a while, there was a knock at her door.

"Who is it?" She called. From the other side of the door Bruce's voice spoke.

"It's Bruce, can I come in?" Dusty winced. She'd forgotten that days constituted time, and Bruce could basically take all the time off from work that he wanted. She, on the other hand, was taking the week off, due to her engagement, and a special holiday that she wasn't exactly sure about, but had some sneaking suspicion that Bruce had something to do with establishing. But then, swallowing, hiding her plans, and steeling herself against whatever was going to come through that door, she spoke.

"Yeah. Come on in." She said, turning in her chair as Bruce opened the door. After he stepped inside, he closed the door behind him. For what seemed like an interminable amount of time neither of them spoke, Dusty sitting in her chair, and Bruce standing by the door. Finally he drew a breath.

"I just want you to know that I apologize for invading your personal space like that in front of the press. It was wrong of me." Bruce said. Dusty sighed and smiled.

"It's okay. It was wrong of me to get uppity about it. Friends?" She asked, holding her hand out. Bruce came up and shook it.

"Friends." Dusty smiled and whirled around, a businesslike tone filling her voice.

"Okay, now that we have that established, I need your help on something." Out from beneath her desk she pulled the extensive plans for the water cannon. Bruce's eyes went large.

"Dusty, this thing's going to be bigger than you!" Dusty smiled.

"I know. I enjoy making larger than life machines. It keeps the zing in life."

"Yeah, and keeps other peoples' reflexes working overtime." Bruce said, running his hand through his hair. Dusty leaned back in her chair, smiling.

"Yes, well, in our society of offices and video games, people need shots of good old fashioned panic every once in a while." She said. "Now, about the base. The mathematic equations indicate that once my cannon's full of water it's going to be top heavy with the pressurized air tanks, which makes me wonder, should I put more weight on the bottom, which will increase it's traction, or should I sink the cannon a little further which will do the same job, only without having to steal the weights from the gym?"

Bruce's eyebrows rose, "Why don't I just buy you customized weights so you could do both, without stealing weights?" Dusty looked up at him. She marked down a few things on her blueprints.

"Ok. I'll need one hundred pounds of weight that I can bolt down. I'd preferably like four twenty-five pound weights, but if you can't find them, I can live with one. Or actually, if you can get two hundred pounds in 50 pound weights, that would be better, because then I can make sure that it is heavy enough." She looked up at him expectantly. He was surveying her plans.

"Bruce?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah, four fifty-pound weights that can be bolted down." He said absently.

Dusty turned around. "Bruce, are you okay? You look a little…not there." She said. He shook himself and looked down at her. She just sat there, looking contemplatively up at him. He blinked and looked away.

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

"You were thinking about the kiss, weren't you?" She said. He froze, and then turned back around to face her. She still sat calmly in the chair, looking at him without any trace of fear or embarrassment.

"Um, yeah." He said quietly. She sighed and sat back.

"Well, I have to say you knew what you were doing." She said. "I can't say I've been kissed like that before."

He started, his face turning incredulous, "You're kidding."

She leaned forward, looking mockingly secretive, "I'll tell you a secret, the only boyfriend I had before you was about eleven years ago, and he was a sixteen year old loser who couldn't dance, and who I only kissed once. I don't see where I could've gotten any such experience." Giving him a slightly sardonic look, she sat back and folded her arms.

"Well, I can't say the same." He said, turning around and sitting on her desk.

Dusty laughed. "Hmm, I wonder why? I guess the reputation might give us a clue." She said. Bruce smiled.

"I think so. That was really kind of annoying, playing a jerk that doesn't care about anyone." He trailed off.

Dusty turned in her chair, pulling her feet up into the chair with her. "So if you aren't that jerk, then who are you?" She said. Then realizing how easily that remark could be misinterpreted, she rephrased it. "I mean, if you aren't the 'Prince of Gotham' Bruce Wayne, then…who is Bruce Wayne? Is he the person that we see here at the manor, the quiet one, or…" She trailed off, losing herself for a moment, before she continued quietly, staring into space. "Or is he someone completely different, someone who won't let anyone in…for fear of letting them in too deep…" Her breath hissed in as Bruce touched her shoulder. She spun around.

"Sorry." He said, pulling his arm back. She turned her chair away again, gripping the handle. They were quiet again.

"…Do…Do you ever feel like that, Bruce?" Dusty whispered, pulling her long thick braid over her shoulder, stroking it carefully, staring intently at the floor. "Do you ever feel like if you ever let anyone in ever again, you'd break apart because they were bound to leave?"

Bruce looked at the back of her head over the top of the chair. He walked forward cautiously, and put his hands comfortingly on Dusty's shoulders. "Sometimes. But then I remind myself that it was circumstances beyond my control that brought me to the events that hurt me in the first place."

"But what if it wasn't beyond your control?" Dusty whispered. "What if you chose the things that brought it about?"

Bruce couldn't stand the heartbreak in her voice. Kneeling, he turned the chair around to reveal a Dusty Grayson that he didn't recognize. This one looked ten years older, with guilt hanging on her like chains on an innocent prisoner.

He looked into her eyes, past the stoic exterior that the world knew as Dusty Grayson. He looked into the truly heartbroken woman before him. He saw years of pain and agony, and more than just one cruel twist of fate that made her want to curl up in a corner and die.

"Dusty." He said softly, "Sometimes the best way to let something go is to talk about it. You don't have to, but I'll be here if you need me." She looked into his eyes and leaned forward to embrace him.

"Thank you." He held her for a few moments, before Dusty pulled back, sniffing. "So, do you think I should put flames on my water cannon?"

* * *

Again, sorry for the late update.

Thanks to motherduckatschool, bookworm2011, PATDfan2012, Spelllesswonder29, and BookWormSara.

Thanks also to Bryt, my awesome beta, and thanks to all those who added me to Story Alert.

Until Next week! Please review!

~Sabre


	22. Chapter Twenty One: Bruising Enthusiasm

Well, here you are...

Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

March 20th Richard's Birthday

"Dusty, look out! There's a fence!" Bruce shouted. Ignoring Bruce's call, Dusty gracefully jumped her horse over the white fence, landing lightly, before the horse went on to gallop on the opposite side of the fence.

Bruce sighed. He'd never been easy around horses. He was more of a small animal person, something like a cat or a dog, than a horse person. Of course, having never really spent any time around horses probably had something to do with it. Granted, he had had some experience with them, considering horseback riding was part of the curriculum at the monastery, but he'd never felt…comfortable around them.

"Hey Bruce, can I try jumping the horse?" Rick asked. Bruce looked at the young boy, perfectly at east on top of his mount. Curse these Graysons. They seemed born naturally attuned to anything that moved.

"Um, Rick, I think you should wait until either I'm not around, or you're being taught by a professional. Preferably both." Bruce said nervously, as they both walked their horses forward, at an easy, sedate pace. Dusty came galloping back, jumping over the fence again, and gradually slowing down as she neared.

"Ah, that was a good run." She said. She patted the beautiful brown mare she was riding, and continued at Bruce and Rick's pace. It was about ten minutes before Rick got up the courage to speak.

"Hey Dusty, do you think you can help me jump my horse?" Bruce shot Rick a look of displeasure.

She looked at the newly minted eleven-year-old. "Sure." The look of displeasure that Bruce shot Rick was nothing compared to the one he shot Dusty. However, she climbed on the back of Rick's horse and handed the reins of her horse to Bruce.

"Dusty, are you sure that you should do this? Rick hasn't ridden very much before and…" He calmed himself forcefully, trying to ignore Dusty's rather condescending look.

"Bruce, it's fine. I'll talk him through it first, and then after we do that, and he understands what to do, we'll try a small one. After he's comfortable with that, we can go bigger." His you-are-going-to-kill-yourself-one-day look did not falter. She rolled her eyes, and with Rick in front of her, turned the horse and the two trotted off, with Dusty talking to Rick as they looped back to have a running start. Bruce couldn't help it, he just had a very bad feeling about this jump. He moved his own 'trusty' steed and Dusty's out of the way of the two that were making the jump.

As they turned around and started to gallop, Bruce noticed something funny about Dusty's seat on the horse. It wasn't as secure as when she was riding by herself. As they neared the jump, Bruce leaned forward. It just wasn't right. From the grim look on Dusty's face, she realized it too. But it was too late to turn back. The horse bunched up and sprung over the small stack of poles in the middle of the arena.

Bruce was moving before even Dusty realized she was falling off. Once she did, she threw herself off to prevent knocking the horse off balance or something worse, causing her to land painfully on the pile, though thankfully not knocking any over. The horse landed perfectly, but since he'd been relying on Dusty, Rick was knocked from the saddle and fell to the ground.

As Bruce neared Dusty, still halfway draped over the pile, she shook her head, having seen Rick fall. "Check him first. I'm fine." Bruce sincerely doubted she was completely fine, but not wanting to upset her, he went to check on the eleven year old. Rick was already on his feet, unharmed, thanks to the fact that the arena was soft dirt.

"You okay, Rick?" He asked, touching the young boy's shoulder. Rick nodded, a little shaken. As they walked back to Dusty, she was breathing heavily, but sitting up.

"Now, Dusty, do you think you can stand up, or did you break your ribs on Rick's birthday?" Bruce asked, squatting down beside her. Dusty winced.

"No, just bruised, I think. Remind me to never do that again."

"Well, I'm glad you finally see that horseback riding is dangerous." He said. He got two identical dirty looks.

"I _meant_, O pessimistic one, that I wasn't going to fall off of a horse onto a jump again. I am seriously going to be feeling that for a while." She said, standing with the help of Bruce and Rick, protectively holding her bruised ribcage. Then, breathing deeply, she closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and straightened up, taking her own weight.

"Okay, I'm good." She said, gently shrugging off Rick and Bruce. When Bruce didn't let go, she shrugged him off even more firmly. "Bruce, I'm fine. If Teddy Roosevelt can get shot in the chest and make an hour-long speech before having it removed, then I can certainly get up after falling down."

Rick eyebrows rose, "Teddy Roosevelt got shot in chest and made a speech before it was removed?"

Dusty nodded her head, "Yeah, well, actually I don't know that he got it removed, but I learned that in eleventh grade." She said, starting to walk forward, Rick still walking beside her. Bruce looked at her uncertainly, but then also followed.

He refused to let her ride, however.

"Dusty, you could have all sorts of internal injuries. If you think I'm going to let you get on a horse after you've -"

"For goodness' sake, Bruce, I've fallen off a horse, not jumped off a cliff. Besides, I've broken ribs before. This is nothing." The two stared at each other with varying degrees of defiance and displeasure before Bruce sighed.

"Fine. You'll ride with me. Better horse wrangler than me or not, you take too many risks for my taste."

"I will not ride with you." He looked at Dusty with one of his 'excuse me?' looks. She stared defiantly at him. Bruce looked at her a moment. Then smiled.

* * *

"Alright, so I was being a little defensive, but seriously, Bruce, this is a little extreme. Besides I can't feel my arms." Dusty said from in front of him. With her hands bound with the lead rope from Bruce's horse, she sat sidesaddle in front of Bruce with his arms on either side of her. With one deft motion, he pulled a cord that loosened the ropes enough to get her hands loose. Dusty's version of 'defensive' was a half-hearted attempt at running toward her horse.

"Well, you'll get over it. Just as long as you don't try to escape into the house before I take you to the doctor's office." He said. An indignant sound came from Dusty.

"I don't need a doctor! Don't you think I would know it? As I have said, I have had broken ribs before."

"So you've said. And said. And said. And said." Bruce said, rolling his eyes, and shifting Dusty higher.

"Only because you haven't been listening!" She said, shrugging the ropes off the rest of the way. Then she tried to get off, only to discover that Bruce could hold her up with one arm, but also that pressing on bruised ribs hurt. A lot.

"Bruce!" She said angrily, slightly breathless.

"Yes?" He said very calmly.

"Let me go!"

"And why should I do that?"

"Because I can ride on my own! And it hurts when you catch me like that." She said.

"I never disputed the fact that you _could _ride on your own. I just disputed the fact that you were actually going to. And you're not. And it's your own fault that your ribs hurt."

Dusty rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on Bruce, at least let me _not_ sit side saddle."

Rick was looking at them with a vague look of amusement. "Only if you promise not to do anything disruptive." Bruce said. Dusty sighed, rolling her eyes before nodding her head.

"I promise." Bruce gave her a very wary look as he scooted back a little, then firmly put his arm tightly around her waist as she lifted her leg over the horse's head.

"You know, you're doing more damage right now than if I were on my own horse." Dusty gasped out. He loosened his grip. She sighed in relief. "Thank you."

"Hey Bruce, what are we going to do besides taking Dusty to the doctor's office?" Rick asked. Dusty mouth dropped open. She scooted back from Bruce as far as she could, twisted around, rather painfully, and then exclaimed furiously.

"You've brainwashed him! You have turned my own brother against me! How dare you!" She said, poking Bruce in the ribs indignantly. He poked her in her good side right back, and then reached over and clipped the freed rope onto Rick's horse.

"Come on, Rick, let's pick up the pace. Then after we take Dusty to the doctor, we'll play a rousing game of Clue." Bruce said, and moved his horse gracefully into a canter.

* * *

Dusty was fine. After getting a cold pack applied, and her ribs wrapped at the doctor's office, they traveled home. Alfred was rather calm when they told him what happened, but seemed rather displeased whenever it was mentioned.

The rest of Rick's birthday was rather quiet. Though many well wishers from Bruce's company and Dusty's acquaintances from past and present called, the two adults affirmed that it was a purely private day in the Wayne household. They spent the day playing Clue. Despite the fact that Dusty and Bruce were both trained detective/ninja people, Rick won almost every time. It was apparent to both Dusty and Bruce that they were going to have to smarten up if they were going to beat him, at any time. For dinner they had Rick's favorite dinner, Bourbon Street Chicken, as well as cake and ice cream. Then came the presents.

Bruce certainly knew how to shop for preteen boys. It was a complete home theatre set. "I needed to get a new one anyway." He remarked at Dusty's remark of the necessity of it. In contrast, Dusty's was smaller, and she looked slightly shy as she gave it to him.

Rick opened it. It was four giant books. As he pulled them out, he discovered many, many pictures of his family. Underneath the four large books were six other smaller books. Dusty opened her mouth to speak.

"I got those out of storage last week. Those were Mom and Dad's journals. I thought you might like to have them. Those are some of the earlier ones, and the others are in the CDs in the back of the books." She said. Rick looked at the treasure trove of knowledge about his parents, and then up at Dusty, and wordlessly embraced her.

Closing her eyes tight, she hugged her little brother, ignoring the slight discomfort from the area of her ribcage. After that, they hooked up Rick's new theatre. It took an hour and half before the technological genius, the younger genius, and the part-time playboy had the whole thing set up correctly. After they had turned it on, and were reveling in the beauty of surround sound, Dusty remarked to Bruce. "You know, this might have been easier if we'd read the instructions."

He smiled and tightened his grip around her shoulders. "Maybe. But it was more fun this way. And you didn't have to lift anything heavy."

"Shhh!" Rick said, engrossed with the movie. Rather sheepish, Dusty and Bruce turned their attention back to the movie.

* * *

So, kind of a filler chapter, but I hope that you enjoyed it anyway.

Thanks to Bryt, BookWormSara, PATDfan2012 for reviewing. I always appreciate it.

Until next week, and don't forget to review!

~Sabre


	23. Chapter Twenty Two: Awakening

Well, here it is.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Come now, Miss Grayson, you look as if you've lost a very dear friend." Alfred said as Dusty looked out the window. It'd been a week since Bruce had gone to Metropolis and Dusty had just gotten back from work for the day. Finally, after over six months of almost consistent work, the Tumbler II was done.

Dusty hadn't expected to miss Bruce while he was gone, but on some levels it had gotten rather boring. Of course, with Richard around, things could never be completely boring, but Bruce's ready wit, and quiet understanding were things that just weren't there anymore. She sighed, "I don't know, Alfred. I guess…I guess I've come to rely on him and…now I'm having trouble dealing with it."

Alfred patted her shoulder. "He'll be back next week. For now, why don't you occupy yourself? I understand that you haven't explored the house yet and since we aren't doing anything tonight, it might be an ample opportunity to do so. Richard is most likely going to be reading the journals you gave him."

Dusty smiled. "All right. Just start shouting around if you need me." She said, walking away. After she dropped off her purse in her room, she started to wander around the house. As she wandered, she started to get a feel of how large the house actually was. She found two ballrooms, fifteen additional bedrooms, another exercise room that had targets, yet another game room, a pool hall, a swimming pool and another library.

As she entered the library, she noticed something different. It had a quiet air about it. Trusting Alfred to have told her if any rooms were off limits, she started to look around. All of the books were matching, as if they had been made to order. She looked over the titles, to find in surprise that most were atlases, and who's who books, with the occasional classic sprinkled in.

Then she caught sight of the piano. It was beautiful, and at least one hundred years old, but beautifully refinished. She pressed one of the keys lovingly, and a pure note rang throughout the room. Sliding into the seat, she started to play one of her favorite songs. It wasn't a necessarily sad song, or happy song, but one that masterfully mourned loss and rejoiced what remained behind. Once she finished, she started to look through the music that was sitting on top of the piano.

As she looked through the music, she accidentally knocked over a three prong candelabra. The three unlit candles fell out before she had a chance to catch them, and landed on the keys.

As she examined the keys, there was a rush of wind behind her. She turned around. Part of the shelf had swung backwards. She stood, now ignoring the candles that still lay on the ground. She walked toward the darkened passage. When she reached the doorway, she paused a moment, then stepped through. It had a cold metal floor, and around her she could see metal walls. Seeing a light switch, she flicked it on and blinked rapidly as the bright lights flicked on.

Seeing a turn in the corridor, she cautiously moved on. She eased around the turn in the corridor. When she saw the elevator, she relaxed slightly. As she entered the elevator, she looked around. She turned to see the row of buttons. Hesitantly, she pressed the sole unmarked button.

Immediately the elevator started to move, a thin clear door snapping shut. Something was definitely suspicious. What was this? As the elevator stopped, the thin, transparent door seemingly disappeared. It was yet another dark room. Looking around, she found another light. She flicked it on. What she saw made her freeze in shock.

It was a bat cave. But it had computers, gadgets, and against one wall, a beautiful chestnut cabinet, with a very familiar symbol engraved into it, and in a table beside it, there were some familiar gadgets. Some she had even made and repaired herself. She picked up one of the familiar metal boomerangs, which was painstakingly made into the shape of a bat.

Batman.

Her mind was whirling with possibilities. Bruce…was Batman? It would make sense, really. She'd seen him angry, and there was something lying underneath the surface that made a person very, very afraid. He was also a very passionate person with the things he did, and Dusty always had a hard time believing that after being at Ra's' school for so long he would just leave and never have any problems switching back. She'd also seen painful bruises on his arms when he'd rolled up his sleeves once, which he blamed on bumping into things. Truthfully, Bruce did happen to drop things every once in a while, but not any more than the average person, and he was _not_ a klutz.

Looking from the backwards perspective, which was comparing Batman to Bruce…she could again see it. He was obviously the same size, and though he held himself a little differently, the massive strength that she had felt on various occasions had been there constantly. She scolded herself. Here she was, fully trained and she hadn't recognized it. There had always been something familiar about both of them, something secret, and sometimes (though she never dwelled on it for long) it was quite frustrating.

But why didn't he tell her? Hadn't she told him about her? Not quite everything, granted, but… She closed her eyes against the sudden feelings of betrayal. But something as big as this… Something as important as this… It just didn't make sense. Anything as big as this that she had ever done, she'd told him about. She'd trusted him. _Betrayed…_her mind echoed over and over. Hurt percolated in her chest, clouding her mind with a searing pain, quickly progressing into a hot anger, and then as she stood in her pain and anger, it blossomed into a mindless fury as her control inexplicably slipped through her fingers. Her fist clenched around the small metal bat.

The Dragon had awoken.

* * *

Bruce was tired. After an all-night flight from Metropolis, only to arrive at Gotham at six thirty in the morning with the whole day ahead of him, he was ready to go to sleep until either he died, or until he was absolutely needed. Preferably the former.

When he arrived at the manor just an hour later, Dusty drove past him in her sleek black Mazda RX-8. He watched her drive past in relative confusion, but then passed it off as her usual dedication. He had gotten an e-mail from her to tell him that the Tumbler II was done. Interestingly, she hadn't called or written since.

He continued up the stairs, greeting Rick as the younger man ate his breakfast, not noticing Rick's rather morose expression, and then walked into his room. Something was different, and in a potentially bad way. He looked around and froze. A note was pinned to his headboard. He silently walked up to it. He paled when he saw the batarang that held it in place, but even more by the heartbreaking message in Dusty's neat handwriting.

_Why didn't you tell me?_

Bruce's head ached with sudden regret. Pulling out his cell phone, he pressed the button for her phone number on speed dial and held it up to his ear. The moment Dusty got on the phone, he could tell she was more than mad. She was furious. She was more furious than he'd ever even seen her pretend.

"What?" Her clipped, harsh tone made his head and heart hurt even worse than before.

"Dusty, listen to me. I -"

"How about you listen to me, playboy? Take a hike. A very long and cold hike. I hope you catch a pneumonia and die. Good-bye." She hung up. Bruce quickly pressed her number again.

"What?"

"Come home. We need to talk about this face to face." Her voice turned sarcastic.

"You know I'd really like to, but since I don't live at your house anymore, if I went home, it wouldn't do you any good." His heart froze.

"What do you mean you don't live at my house anymore?" He demanded. He could almost hear her smirk.

"I moved out this morning. Have a nice life." She said, and hung up. He looked down. There on the pillow sat Dusty's engagement ring. Its beautiful, flawless diamonds glittered coldly up at him.

His expression hardened in determination. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot. Snatching up her ring, Bruce stormed down to the garage. Alfred followed him.

"Master Bruce, if I may say so, it might not be particularly wise to confront her at this time. She's been getting more and more violent every day. If I remember correctly, she broke two glasses yesterday when she thought we weren't looking." Bruce turned around.

"Exactly. If I don't go and at least try to explain myself now, pretty soon she's either kill someone else, or herself purely by accident." Turning on his heel, he pushed open the door to the garage, revealing his fifteen favorite cars.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but might I point out that the last time you engaged in combat with her, you lost?"

"Not now, Alfred." Then he turned around to face Alfred again in front of his car of choice. "We weren't really trying then, anyway."

Climbing into the Lamborghini Gallardo, he buckled up, and sped out of the garage faster than what was probably legal.

* * *

He didn't slow down the whole ride, skillfully dodging all policemen, until he sped up in front of Wayne Enterprises. Stepping out of the car, the valet took his keys. Bruce stormed down to the basement of the building. Stopping right outside of the door into the warehouse, he met Mr. Fox. He looked at Bruce once, clapped him on the shoulder.

"Been nice knowing you, Mr. Wayne. She's busy tearing apart leather with her bare hands in the upholstery section if you want her." Shaking his head, Mr. Fox then walked up the steps to their office. Shaking loose the uneasy feeling that now pervaded his heart, Bruce opened the door.

"Forget something, Mr. Fox?" Dusty asked, somewhere in one of the supply rooms. Bruce winced. He could tell just how angry she was, even though supposedly she wasn't talking to him. Her voice was gruff and the frustration was heavy in the air.

Bruce didn't answer. He didn't want to give away his position just yet, especially if she was really feeling as violent as Alfred said she was. Dusty called again for Mr. Fox.

"Are you there?" She asked. Then Bruce turned the corner into the room. In the moment that she took to recognize him, Bruce realized just how accurate the person who wrote about the fury of a woman scorned was. The next moment he was busy ducking the pair of leather scissors she threw at him.

"How dare you come here, Bruce Wayne!" She shouted, staying behind the table for the moment. He stood up cautiously, wary of anything near to Dusty that she could throw.

"I wanted to explain myself." He said. She picked up a measuring stick and held it up like a spear.

"Oh?" Her no-nonsense tone told him quite well enough that if he tried to make her lower the spear, she would. By throwing it at him.

He put his hands out in a placating gesture. "I wanted to tell you, I just didn't ever get the chance." She threw the stick, and as Bruce ducked, it shattered against the cement wall behind him.

"I lived in the same house as you for three months, and you couldn't find a spare minute to tell me that you were_ Batman_?!" Her cheeks were turning pink. Bruce absently wondered how long she could keep shouting before her voice gave out. With the rest of his brain he put his most calming voice on.

"Dusty, this wasn't something I could just blurt out. I needed time to figure out how and when to tell you."

"And in the meantime we'd both die of old age!" She said in a forced calm voice. Her hand edged toward the bolt of leather. Though it weighed well over fifty pounds, he had no doubt in her rage she could hurl it at a speed that could easily render him unconscious.

"Dusty, just…just calm down, ok?"

"Why?" Her words were just as pointed as her look, which was enough to make even him feel like he wanted take a few steps back.

"Because…I'm sorry." She blinked a few times, taking deep breaths, obviously at least trying to calm down.

Then she exploded. "You're _sorry?!_ Why? Because you just want me to come back? Because I'm just your mechanical junkie who makes really cool gadgets? Because you feel bad for me because of my past? Because you want to protect me?! Well, Batfink, I don't care. I can take care of myself. Hate to break it to you, but I was on the run for a year before I came to Gotham! It's only because you didn't tell me where we were going the day the bomb went off that I didn't argue the point!"

"Dusty, Watson is still after you! I was just trying to help."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT WATSON!" She yelled, more furious than ever. "He hasn't tried anything for the past two months! And you have done more than help. You've tricked everyone, and then ruined all of our trusts. How could you?!"

"How have I ruined your trust?" He asked, for now still winning the fight to stay calm, although his patience was wearing thin.

Dusty, infuriated by Bruce's ability to stay calm, forced her voice to become disturbingly calm, wiping all evidence of being mad from her face, including somehow making her cheeks return to their original color.

"Through the simple fact that you never told me who you are. I've told you who I am. I have told you whom I worked for. I even let you get closer than anyone else in the world, even against my better judgment. And then I find out that your secret life is the biggest thing in Gotham since the Depression. You were holding out on me, and you would have continued if I hadn't found it! I can't – It just - I even kissed you!" Her voice was getting louder, and louder, against her will. Bruce could see the anger in her eyes that was edging her closer and closer to the line where she would snap for good.

Bruce, contrary to what his senses were trying to tell him, took a few steps forward. "Dusty, listen to me. I'm sorry. I know it probably won't help any, but if you leave right now, I don't know what Rick would do." At the mention of her little brother, she reached the end of her rope.

Gaining height and acceleration off the bench behind her, she leaped across the table, barreling into Bruce with more force than a charging bull. Landing a hard blow across his face, he found himself in almost a literal fight for his life. And he didn't have his armor to protect him. He grabbed her fists and threw her away from him; she landed on the floor hard, but rolled over her shoulder on to her feet. Bruce jumped to his feet, and the two ninjas circled.

Dusty feinted to the right. Bruce pretended to follow her, but then grabbed her. He had realized that Dusty was strong, but due to her slender build he hadn't really grasped her full potential. While not quite as powerful as him, she turned and completely flipped Bruce over her shoulder. He pulled her down, grabbing both her wrists and standing, but Dusty was on a warpath.

She twisted, getting one arm free. Instantly he had to release her other arm in order to protect himself. She landed an especially hard punch to his shoulder, actually making his arm go numb as she connected with the area directly above the nerve center, then using her feet, kicked him hard in the chest. Bruce fell to his knees. His chest throbbed, and his arm tingled as the nerves woke up. Ducking as she aimed another kick at his head, he dove at her legs, nicking himself slightly on the heel of her boot as it came down, but managing to grab her ankle all the same.

Furiously she tore out of his grip before rolling to her feet, several feet away. She paused a few feet back, her eyes furious and her gaze pointed.

She walked up, her movements smooth, but literally shaking due to fury. Bruce could tell she wasn't in control. His mind started to race as she spoke. "You know all of those kisses I gave you, Bruce?" He watched her, not responding, feeling his arm return to normal. Any moment now. She would make a mistake at any moment. She smiled derisively, "Have them back."

Without further ado, she kissed the palm of her hand, and swung it has hard as she could at Bruce's face. As her palm collided with bruising force across Bruce's face, he pushed himself into it to regain his stability, his thoughts whirling, hoping what he was about to do would not end up killing him. Then, for the millisecond at the end of her swing that she was off balance, the mistake he was looking for, he barreled into her, sending them both crashing toward the floor. As they went down Bruce, panicking, knowing that sending her to the floor again wouldn't stem the tide of fury, took one more step, catching Dusty's head on the edge of the table, rendering her unconscious.

Bruce and Dusty landed heavily, and for a moment Bruce laid still, making sure that Dusty was really unconscious before he moved off of her. Her face was completely relaxed and unmoving. It was an odd thing to see on her face, as even in sleep her expression was never completely still. Breathing heavily, he hung his head in overpowering exhaustion. Suddenly Alfred and Mr. Fox rushed into the room. On seeing the unconscious woman, and the rather beat up man, they both started to talk. After a minute of confusion, and explanations from Bruce, Alfred went and leaned over Dusty, checking her breathing and heartbeat.

"Is she okay?" Bruce said, wincing slightly as he sat up. Alfred lifted up her head carefully, as Mr. Fox also checked Bruce's eyes for a concussion.

"Yes, she'll be fine. You didn't break her ribs when you landed on her, and though she'll have a headache for a while, she'll be fine. Hopefully it knocked some sense into her." He said grimly.

Bruce winced as Mr. Fox took out a bottle of witch hazel and swabbed Bruce's bruised cheek with it. As Alfred also treated the back of Dusty's head with the same liquid, she began to stir.

"Bruce?" She whispered. Bruce, ignoring the fact that she could possibly be looking for another opening to kill him, scooted over to her.

"Yes, Dusty?" He said, touching her face softly. Memories of that day in January when the bomb went off suddenly came back. She winced as the pain from her head wafted over her, and few tears formulated in the corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She said, opening her eyes. Bruce silently took her from Alfred, cradling her against him. Suddenly she laughed, a soft, very embarrassed laugh. "I guess I really lost it, didn't I?" She said, looking up at Bruce, running her fingers across the hefty bruise forming on his cheek. He smiled.

"You could say that."

She winced. "Sorry." Then she pushed up, holding the back of her head gingerly. "Ow. Did I hit the table?" Bruce nodded. She shook her head as if to clear it. "Remind me never to do that – any of that - again."

* * *

A few interesting facts: I wrote this chapter over a year ago to 'This is How A Heart Breaks" by Rob Thomas.

It was the first real fight scene I ever wrote.

And...yeah it's the first chapter in a long line of chapters that's not filler.

And...There's only about one more chapter of filler left in the entire story (Leastwise as far as I could tell).

As of this chapter, I have received over 100 reviews and 10,000 hits on this story. You guys rock!

Thanks to Bryt, Darth KenObi-Wan (thankyouthankyouthankyou times a billion. Seriously), crazikido2 (times eighteen, one for each review), PATDfan2012, motherduckatschool (100th reviewer!) and Rebellious Turk. You guys rock my socks and make life all the more worthwhile.

Also, thanks to all those who put me on Story Alert.

Anyway, please review! It's always very much appreciated!

~Sabre


	24. Chapter Twenty Three: Trust

Here I am, on time.

Huzzah.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three

After severely telling her off for nearly killing her boss, Mr. Fox ordered her to go home. "Don't you dare get sick. Just get out, and I mean that in the best possible way. And try not to kill Bruce again." Dusty smiled painfully, and turned to go.

Alfred bundled the two warriors up in the back seat of the Rolls Royce. He gave them disapproving looks the whole way home, and once they got back to the manor, he sent them up to their rooms. Dusty sat on the window seat, feeling very much like the errant child she was being treated like. How could she have done something so…moronic? It really reeked of something that Watson would have done – blown up without warning, and without a clear, beyond-the-shadow-of-a-doubt reason. Sighing, she dropped her head into her hands, willing away the headache.

The door opened. She turned her head. Alfred walked in. "I suppose you would like to know that you are allowed out. However, you are expected to help clean the front windows tomorrow. And you are expected to help Bruce in his nightly duties from now on."

Dusty smiled. "I think I can handle that." Then Alfred handed Dusty something small and shiny.

"And you are expected to wear this." He dropped her engagement ring into her hand. Sliding it onto her finger, she smiled at it.

"Am I correct in assuming that you like wearing expensive jewelry?" Alfred asked. Dusty looked up at Alfred.

"Yeah. And it also makes me grateful that I gave it back before I hit Bruce that first time. He would've had cuts, and not just bruises." Alfred smiled.

"Well, after a very trying week of you pretending you weren't angry, I'm very glad to welcome you to back to the realm of the living." He tilted his head forward and raised his eyebrows, "I trust this won't happen again."

She felt like shuffling her feet. "No, sir."

Alfred smiled yet again. "Very well. By the way, I left some ice on your desk. I thought you might want to ice your fist. I noticed it was getting bruised." Dusty smiled sheepishly. She barely remembered hitting Bruce that first time through the red haze. However, her bruised knuckles and wrists were more than enough proof of the fight, let alone the throbbing mass at the back of her head.

She sat down with a barely concealed sigh. _Well, _she thought_, that blows the Easter ball. _

_Good Riddance.

* * *

_

Bruce eased back into the easy chair in his office. He figured in the present circumstances (with an ice pack on his face, his chest, and his shoulder, and obvious bruising in all of those places) the Easter ball was definitely out. He flicked on the TV.

"_And now, this just in: Is Bruce and Justine's relationship on the rocks? They were both seen exiting Wayne Enterprises, while Mr. Wayne sported a nasty bruise on his cheek. No pictures are available at this time, but perhaps…_" Bruce groaned and turned off the TV.

"I might've told you to keep the television off."

"What still gets me is how they find out so quick." He said, leaning his head back. Alfred smiled, and handed him a fresh ice pack.

"I believe it has to do with spying and cell-phones, sir. Anything else is irrelevant." Alfred said, and pulled the drapes open to the room. Bruce winced and turned his chair around. "Sir, even with your, ahem, _delicate_ skin, I believe the sun would be beneficial while it lasts."

"Alfred, I've been awake since ten last night, and have fought a woman who could give Batman a run for his money. I want to sleep." As an after thought, he said, "Please."

Alfred smiled. "How about I leave the drapes open, and come get you in an hour?" He asked. Bruce's eyes were already closed.

"How about two? I'll need to go out tonight." Bruce said. Alfred looked at the obviously exhausted young man.

"Very well. Afterwards, I will send in Miss Grayson to apologize." Alfred said as he made his way to the door. Bruce opened his eyes, and sat up slightly.

"What do you mean? Dusty already apologized." Alfred gave him his special assessing look, and then raised his eyebrows.

"Did she?" He asked as he turned and walked out. Bruce leaned back in his chair, thinking about what Alfred had just said. True, Dusty had said she was sorry, but she had never said for what. From experience, knowing what Dusty was sorry for was important. Though she never lied by commission, she often omitted certain truths, or in her words, created grammatical loopholes. Multiple times, she had done it to prove a point. Masters of the English language should never be ninjas.

Thank goodness for Alfred. He could ascertain certain habits in people within record time, and the fact that he had had a small amount of experience with Dusty and her family helped immensely, knowing their butler like a brother, and with Thomas Wayne working with Dwayne Grayson once. Sighing, and wishing half-seriously for a normal life, he leaned back, and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Dusty paced her room, a dark look ingrained on her face. Admittedly, forgiving Bruce was a lot harder than beating him up, even if she didn't even accomplish that fully. The back of her head ached, but despite having two Tylenol and a glass of water on her desk, she didn't take them. Her fighter's sense told her savagely that she deserved it, for allowing Bruce to take her down in an especially humiliating way. She cringed in pain and shame as she remembered the blinding agony as the back of her head hit the table. She still felt uneasy, the feelings that reminded her more and more of Watson still crashing up against her. However, even with that unease, the slight feeling of anger toward Bruce still carried the day, and for some reason she wasn't quite willing to let it go.

She sat down and put her head in her hands. And now she had to work with Bruce. More than usual. Working with Batman hadn't been bad before, even a bit enjoyable, but now that she knew who he was, the mystique came off a little bit. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She sighed and looked up. As much as she hurt all over, kudos to Bruce, and being his fall cushion, she was getting restless.

Sighing, she grabbed a sweater and put it on. As she walked outside, Alfred called to her. "I need you back in two hours, Miss, unless you're off to save the world. However, if you're going dressed like that, I might offer a few suggestions."

Dusty smiled, and looked down at her faded, baggy sweater, jeans and knee-high boots. On the upside, it was comfortable. However, her fashion statement of 'comfort and function is everything' probably would have made people laugh. "I'm just going for a walk outside. Being indoors is getting slightly claustrophobic." She said, looking up and around at the grandness of the house. Alfred smiled.

"Very well. Don't wander too far, Miss Grayson." He said. Dusty nodded, then turned and left the house.

It was truly a beautiful day. Despite having overhanging gray clouds, and a cool wind blowing around it was peaceful. She looked around over the green grass, and the blooming flowers all around. She walked around the large house, ignoring the paths and walking through some of the tall weeds. As she walked around the house, she looked up at the sky. As she did she felt the raindrops start to fall. Relishing the feel of the cold wet rain, which brought a feeling of awareness and renewal, she sat down in the grass and tilted her head toward the sky, pondering what she was going to do about Bruce Wayne.

Two hours passed very quickly. Bruce woke up to the pitter-patter of rain on the window. His face, chest and arm felt better, and his mind felt more alert as well. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear whispers outside his door. Leaning back in his chair for a moment, he listened.

"If you two want to come in, you're welcome to." He said, loud enough to be heard through the door. The whispering ceased and the door opened to reveal a very displeased Alfred, and a very wet Dusty.

Bruce stared at Dusty for a moment, then said, "I'm not sure I even want to know."

She rolled her eyes, "I was out in the rain, Bruce. It's not like I usually do scandalous things…" She trailed off. She was suddenly monumentally grateful that she chose to wear her black T-shirt underneath her sweater. "Anyway, we're getting off topic. Why am I here?"

"We didn't have a topic in the first place, Miss Grayson, though you are here to apologize to Master Bruce." Alfred said. Either he was upset because she'd said something, which wasn't very likely, or just simply because she was dripping on the carpet.

"For what?" She looked from Bruce to Alfred. They both gave her unimpressed looks. Her look didn't falter. "What? I said sorry!" She said indignantly.

"For what?" Bruce asked evenly. Her look flickered.

"Why?" She asked. Alfred and Bruce looked for each other. Dusty looked at both of them, her expression darkening. She exhaled softly. "May I tell you something?" She asked, her voice soft, but unrelentingly cold. Bruce leaned forward. Alfred didn't seem to move.

"If you want to." Bruce said. Dusty sighed.

"I'm sorry for trying to kill you, Bruce." Both Bruce and Alfred partially relaxed, until Dusty continued, "But I'm not sorry I hurt you." Both men looked at each other uneasily. Dusty went on, turning and staring out the window. "It seems that what my greatest trial now is pain. It doesn't matter what kind of pain: betrayal, someone leaving, heartbreak, it's pretty much all the same now." A look of hurt flashed across her face. "But some things come back to haunt me." She took in a ragged breath. "Betrayal is the most prominent one. Don't look at me like that, Bruce." She said without turning around, "You did. Even if you never meant to do it at first, you all did. The civil system, Watson, you…and myself." She whispered.

"But Dusty…" Bruce said. She scoffed as she turned around.

"Come on, Bruce. Think about it. If you weren't willing to tell me about Batman, than how could I possibly guess what you're hiding? Another girlfriend? A family?"

Bruce protested, "Dusty-"

"No!" Dusty calmed herself down, "Bruce, I know that it probably slipped the bounds of a need-to-know basis. Or even the bounds of a probably-won't-need-to-know basis, but when you happen to be living with a women who was calling herself your fiancée to the world, you shouldn't keep secrets like that!"

"Why shouldn't I? If you're just calling yourself my fiancée, then why should it make any difference whether or not I tell you the biggest secret of my life?"

"Because I trusted you enough to tell you mine." Dusty said, her face stoic and her voice breaking. "I never told anyone about my involvement in the League. Least of all about Watson."

Bruce sighed. He'd lost his temper for a moment. He knew about the dangers of telling people, and the disbelief that came with the whole deal. And he knew the burden of the secret. He put his arms around her. "I'm sorry. I know the weight, but I…I needed a way to show you. And an appropriate time. We always had something going on, or Rick needed looking after…I was going to tell you after he went back to school in the fall." Dusty pulled away and turned to look at him, and then turned away. Bruce pressed on. "That way, I could introduce the idea gradually, and we could have avoided any reactions…like we experienced." As if on cue, and yet totally independent of one another, they reached up to massage their foreheads. They were both silent for a period of time, in which the only sound that was heard was the water dripping off of Dusty's cuffs.

"I guess I really messed up, didn't I?" Dusty said, folding one arm across herself, and using the other to support her head. She felt almost sick. "I didn't listen to anyone, thinking that I had all the answers, and, oh dear." She said, putting her face in her hands. She stiffened for a moment as Bruce put his arms around the extremely wet young woman, but then turned around and embraced him back, trying not to cry.

Alfred left silently, and arrived back with warm fluffy towels for both Bruce and Dusty.

Reprieve was on the horizon.

* * *

Hmm. This one I wasn't so sure about. I didn't want to make it seem like Bruce was just letting her off easy, or that Dusty was letting herself off easy, but I think I did anyway. Tell me what you think.

Thanks to Tiz-a-Cookie, Rebellious Turk (I update every Saturday), Bryt, suchicken, and motherduckatschool for reviewing!

Also, thanks to all who put me on their Story Alert list.

Until next Saturday!

~Sabre


	25. Chapter Twenty Four: Sana

Well, here it is!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

Seasons passed, and a beautiful spring passed onto a warm summer. As the weather got warmer, Dusty spent more and more time outside. Bruce couldn't decide whether she just liked it outdoors, or whether she was mapping out the whole estate for the fast approaching Annual Water Fight. Her water cannon was finished, and to tell the truth, it looked absolutely terrifying. It stood almost five feet tall, had parts from everything from swivel chairs to parts of an old tank she bought over eBay, its multiple nozzles, added for maximum firing power, seemingly grinning at him whenever he entered her room.

She'd also been a great help on crime fighting. As well as being a whiz on the computer, which was a very useful acquired skill, she could have his gadgets ready in hours when they were broken or simply not working. But things were still rather awkward between them. It wasn't really the Batman thing anymore, Bruce could tell, but rather the sort of awkwardness that told him she was more than ready to get back in action.

Which brought him back to the water fight. All things considered, as well as Dusty's eagerness to get back in action, he wasn't sure if this was a completely intelligent thing to do. After all, if she turned this into an exercise, he would be forced to…well, cheat. He had Alfred on his team after all, and even though the two Graysons had water cannons, well, he knew how to even the odds. Or at least he hoped so. If not, there was going to be a lot of unintentionally cold water being shot around.

The morning of the water fight dawned, the sun beating down in a way that made them feel fortunate that they were chucking water around. Around eight in the morning, they all met in the foyer. Dusty spoke.

"So, I suppose you all know how this works?" She asked. Bruce and Rick smiled and nodded. Alfred merely nodded.

"Alright, there are certain rules. Number one: war will reign until either one team surrenders to the other, or until suppertime tonight. Whichever comes first. Number two: No bodily harm should come to anyone; which, by the way, includes accidental slides and slips. That means, should you see anyone about to fall, or slip around, please help them." She paused. "Unless you have a score to pay, and then you can leave them alone." They all laughed. She smiled, "Bottom line rules, keep it clean, don't cheat unless you have to, wear helmets while on marble floors, and..." Her forehead creased, "Don't drink pesticide. That's all. May the best team win!" She said. Without further ado, they all shook hands, and ran to their various positions.

Bruce ran outside to dismantle the handles on all the outside faucets, and Alfred donned his overalls and stately raincoat, took a monkey wrench, and without too much difficulty turned off all the water to the house.

War had begun.

* * *

While Bruce and Alfred were un-evening the odds, Dusty was putting the balance back in place. Seeing what Bruce was doing from her vantage point in the tree two hundred yards away, with help from her trusty waterproof binoculars, she took the small tool kit from her pocket and checked that there was a wrench, just in case she needed it. There was.

She also checked that there was enough water in her present storage place to fill her machine for ten rounds. Unbeknownst to Bruce and Alfred, Dusty and Rick, while innocently shopping for rubber bands, or not so innocently, seeing how they were to use them later that day, the two Grayson siblings bought nearly four thousand gallons of water, more than enough to carry them through the day, and hid them throughout the grounds, where they were strategically placed to coincide with their plans.

Rick was on the other side of the house, spying through the windows to try to figure out where Alfred was.

"I can't see him." He said into his headset, peering into the windows. These headsets, specially-made waterproof for the occasion, were a contribution from Mr. Fox. Dusty had been stunned when he'd slipped the box surreptitiously into her bag, showing a support for the water fight that she didn't think he would show, even if it was on bought and paid-for vacation time. The fact that he was a good friend now probably made the whole contribution thing make a little more sense, but a sneaking suspicion suggested to her that maybe he just thought she might need a little more help.

"Ok, then forget about him for now. I'll sneak up with the Uzi and get Bruce for now. Standby with The Peashooter." The Peashooter was the affectionate name given to Rick's little water cannon. Dusty's was just 'The Cannon', and generally not dwelled upon. Dusty wasn't sure whether this was because they were afraid of it, or because they didn't want her to start thinking up nefarious things to do with it.

"Right on, Dusty. Should I make my way around to help you?" He asked. She looked through her binoculars at Bruce.

"Nah, stay and keep a watch out for Alfred. I don't want to get ambushed. Keep a special lookout on the doors, and make sure he doesn't make it out of the house dry. If you need to replace the cannon on the Peashooter with a camera and find him. The extra reception I installed should make it safe to stay outside. Under no circumstances enter the house." She said into the mike.

"Roger."

"Over and out. I'm out after Bruce. Don't call me unless it's absolutely necessary." She said and slipped out of the tree. Grabbing two heavy-duty water guns, she slipped them into a quick draw position, and then grabbed two balloons from one of the crates hidden in the bushes.

Keeping her profile low, she snuck up on the unsuspecting Bruce, hid herself behind a bush, and then lobbed the balloon at him. The balloon broke beautifully across the back of his head, drenching his back. Shocked by the sudden dousing he had received, he arched his back and whipped around. Dusty went still as he surveyed the bushes around him. For a moment she thought he spotted her, until his eyes moved away from her hiding spot.

Breathing a little easier, she waited until he was turned back to his work. Lobbing the other one, she threw it so it landed on top of his head, drenching his front.

"Oh, score!" She whispered. He whipped around, shaking water from his eyes. Ever so carefully, he scanned the bushes. After a minute, he raised his voice to a loud tone.

"I can see you, Dusty." He said. Dusty didn't believe it. Half the time people said that, they were bluffing people out into the opening. She stayed absolutely still. Then slowly, imperceptibly, she took the water-Uzi out of her belt. As Bruce approached the row of bushes (it appeared he _had_ been bluffing), she saw him pull a water gun of his own out of his belt.

Then suddenly he ran toward Dusty's bush. Standing, she let loose with the Uzi, pumping up the water gun as fast as she could, and spluttered when Bruce's water hit her face, never once letting her own stream falter. Then, turning tail and laughing, she started to run back toward the trees.

This was a crucial part of the plan. If she could get Bruce in range, she had a voice activator for her water cannon. As she zigzagged, letting him almost get her, she drew him closer and closer. Finally, he came within fifteen feet. In fact, he came within 10 feet.

"Activate." Dusty said clearly in her microphone. The water burst from the pipe and hit Bruce in the chest and face. Spluttering, he waited until the cannon blast was gone, and then went after Dusty, tackling her in the muddy ground.

"Surrender!" He said, pinning her to the ground and emptying the tank of his water gun over her head. She rolled over, heaving upwards in a massive show of strength, fueled by the frigid water, and took off across the lawn.

"NEVER!" She yelled as she streaked off, water droplets flying behind her. Running to another cache of water implements, she took another four water balloons and lobbed them at Bruce. A flash of confusion crossed his face.

"Where are you getting all of these?" He yelled, dodging another balloon, while getting doused with another one. Dusty paused, poised to throw.

"Do I generally do anything by halves?" She asked lowering the purple balloon in her hand. A genuinely curious look crossed her face. Bruce panted as he thought about it.

"No." He admitted. A smile crossed her face.

"Oh. Well then." She said, and hurled the balloon at him. He ducked and rolled toward her. Shrieking, she hurtled backwards, taking four balloons with her. Immediately, she realized her mistake.

Bruce had control of that bucket of water balloons. Closing her eyes, she prepared herself to get very, very wet.

* * *

War reigned all that day. By the time dinnertime rolled around, everyone (excluding Alfred) had gotten thoroughly wet. Rick had waited patiently almost three hours before Alfred had come out with Bruce's lunch, and on his way back, had hit him three times with the Peashooter before Alfred could ascertain where Rick was. Luckily, and characteristically, Alfred had his raincoat and umbrella at the ready.

As they sloshed up the steps to the manor, this proved useful as to the fact that Alfred could get towels. As they dripped in the front entry, they reveled in the highlights of the day. Bruce had gotten both Dusty and Rick in a beautiful smash when he dumped an entire garbage can of water over a balcony. Rick had also gotten right up behind Bruce and emptied a two-gallon bucket over his head, only to get doused himself. But the crowning glory was when Alfred blasted Dusty with a hose-full of ice-cold water after she almost got him with the cannon.

In the end, no one really won. The right to dinner went to both teams, and after people were all in nice warm clothes (the wind had picked up around five o'clock, thus leaving all of them [except Alfred] well chilled) they enjoyed steaming hot chili from the crock-pot. During dinner, Bruce was quiet. He seemed a little moody, which wasn't normal, at least for his non-Batman persona.

Alfred called him on it after Dusty and Rick had left the table to go do some air-hockey. Bruce put his face in his hands. "I have to marry her, Alfred."

"I'm presuming you mean Miss Grayson?" He asked, calmly clearing off Bruce's plate. Bruce nodded. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, sir, but I assumed that you were rather fond of the young lady."

Bruce sighed. "I am… But if we keep up this charade, then people are going to start asking when's the big day, and if we say we haven't decided, then rumors are going to start flying, and I really don't want Dusty having to go through that again. But still… I just don't know if she would want to marry me."

"So it's not about your feelings, it's about hers?" Alfred asked. Bruce nodded again, rubbing his hand over his face again. "So, if I may ask, sir, why is it so important to keep the charade going? To my knowledge, the League of Shadows has not had contact with Miss Grayson for over five months, and that is when her apartment blew up. Even if you two were to become disengaged, wouldn't she still have a high profile? Enough to keep her safe?"

Running a hand through his hair, he spoke in a low voice, "They're getting restless. The notes about the Dragon are about her, I'm sure of it. They're getting more and more common. The first note was found with Mike Dennison, one of the bomb squad people that were first on the scene when Dusty's apartment blew up. The second was found in Rachel's apartment, underneath a picture of Dusty, Rachel and I that we took at the start of the summer holiday. Luckily, Rachel was visiting her mother at the time. I guess they knew that she and Dusty had become friends."

Alfred surveyed the younger man. "Well, then it seems you have no option. Obviously you must keep Miss Grayson here for her protection, and if marrying her is the best option, then by all means marry her." Bruce sighed and stood, leaning against the counter.

"How am I supposed to break that to her?" He asked. Alfred gave him an assessing look and then replied.

"With tact, perhaps? If I know Miss Grayson, out of duty, she will not refuse. Whether any other emotions are present, I wouldn't know. You should know, Master Bruce, that the emotions she treasures most are the ones locked deepest inside her." The trusty old butler wetted down a dishrag and started to wipe the table and counters down. "I would wait until Mr. Grayson is put to bed, however. It would not do to have two siblings prone to overreacting to be driven to panic at once."

Bruce smiled. "I guess you're right. Anyway, Dusty has better luck breaking things to Rick than I do." Alfred smiled.

"Right so, sir. Now I believe if you go upstairs, they will be setting up the pool table. It would probably be best to keep points for them. Miss Grayson might need your help too, she hasn't quite got it yet. Last week she cracked one of the chairs when the cue ball flew off the table." Bruce laughed and ran upstairs.

True enough, when he got upstairs, Dusty was losing the game badly. Rick looked smug, leaning on his cue stick in a very nonchalant way.

"Have you come to laugh at me too, or to do something useful?" Dusty grumbled. Bruce smiled, sitting a short distance away.

"Well, Alfred did tell me to come keep score, but I think that would be slightly useless. How about I give you a few tips?" He asked. Dusty sighed.

"As long as you aren't like Mr. I'm-a-master-at-physics over there and give useless hints."

"And if I do?" He asked. She gave him a look that rivaled the air over Gotham's cement factory.

"Then I will beat you over the head with my cue stick." She growled. He smiled and stood up walking over to her casually.

"Alright. Which ball do you want to hit in?" He asked. She pointed at the three ball. "Any reason for that one?" He said. She looked at him evenly.

"Any reason why not?" She asked. He shrugged and moved behind her. After angling her the way he wanted her to be, she shot. The three ball went in.

"Yes!" She said. Bruce smiled to himself. He also noted that one way to make Dusty feel better was to teach her how to do something new. After what he was going to tell her, he wondered just how many things he would need to teach her.

The game went on for a while, Rick being called to go to bed soon, and after two hours, Bruce and Dusty's game began to dwindle. After their pool game turned into a cue-stick swordfight, they finally called it quits. Tired and thirsty, but more relaxed than before (at least on Dusty's part) the two 'adults' tromped down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Dusty? I have a question." Bruce asked. Dusty filled her glass up with water and turned around to face him across the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

"Shoot." She said, taking a drink.

"What if I told you we had to really get married?" Dusty lowered her glass, thinking about it.

"Not sure. Why?" She asked, raising her glass to her lips again.

"Because we do," He said. Dusty choked, halfway spewing her water across the kitchen, and halfway trying to cough the rest of the water out of her lungs, clapping one of her hands over her mouth. As Bruce tried to come up to help her, she held out her hand to stop him in a very firm way. After a few minutes of clearing her throat, and breathing normally, she spoke, her voice slightly hoarse, her mind and heart racing.

"Why do you think we need to do that?" She said, taking a cautious sip of water. Bruce waited until she had swallowed before he replied.

"Well, we've been engaged for almost four months. People are going to start asking when the wedding is," He said. Dusty sighed.

"Sometimes I really hate your sense of logic," She said, pulling herself up onto the counter. "No offense or anything, you're one of my best friends, but I really don't want to get married right now." Bruce smiled and leaned against the counter beside her.

"Well, no offense, but I'm not sure either. However, I think it's something that needs to be done. I really don't want the…er…those sort of rumors to start up again." He said. Dusty put her arm around his shoulders and leaned on him a little bit. A moment of silence passed.

"Well, I guess that's that, then." She said. He looked up as she removed her arm and jumped off the counter.

"You mean you'll do it?" He asked. She shrugged.

"As I said, I don't want to, but considering my alternatives are either defamation or death, I'll stick with getting married." She said, and turned around.

"Um…Now what?" She turned around.

"Now I get to plan a wedding. You can arrange the pre-nup, just in case. To make it easy, let's just keep everything we take into this marriage, and perchance we give stuff to each other, we keep that as well, unless for some reason we don't want to keep it."

"Fair enough," He said. She smiled, turned, and walked out the kitchen door.  
"Well," Bruce said to himself, "That went better than expected."

* * *

The first thing she did when Dusty got into her room was kick the desk. Married! Of all the things Bruce had to throw at her, it was marriage. To him. Yes, he was kind. Yes, he was wonderful. But a husband? As small part of her was tempted to say yes, but the majority of her, the part that carried the vote, told her a flat 'no'. Call it fear, call it stubbornness, call it she didn't want to get involved with someone when she had a price on her head, she just wasn't willing to marry him. Sighing, she slumped down on her window seat. She looked at the clock. 10:23.

By all accounts Sana wouldn't be asleep by now. She pulled out her cell phone, and paused. On the converse side, by all accounts of reason and sanity, she probably wouldn't have the same cell-phone number after eight years. On the other hand, if there was one thing that Sana liked…Okay, it was lipstick, but the next best thing was consistency, since she hadn't changed her phone number in the eight years before that… It was at least worth a try.

Typing in the well-memorized digits, she pressed the talk button. Her heart almost stopped when it started ringing. After two rings, a musical voice sounded.

"Ceci SeQuina Tormont, comment peut-il j'est-il vous aider? Si vous ne voulez pas SeQuina Tormont, alors vous avez évidemment le faux numéro ainsi vous. (This is SeQuina Tormont, how may I help you? If you didn't want SeQuina Tormont, then you've obviously got the wrong number so you can hang up now.)"

"Et ce qui si je voulais parler à une amie très vieux nommé Sana? (And what if I wanted to talk to a very old friend named Sana?)" Dusty said, countering in the same language. There was silence.

"Dusty?" Sana asked, her voice rather small and disbelieving. Dusty smiled at the voice of her childhood friend.

"Hey, Sana." The squeal was enough to make Dusty pull the phone away from her ear.

"I haven't heard from you in, like, forever! What's up? Where have you been? Last I heard you were in Beijing, and no one had seen you, like, forever. Until, of course, four months ago you popped into headlines again. Seen with Bruce Wayne? What were you thinking?"

Dusty listened to her friend speaking at a hundred miles a minute. She really hadn't changed, and Dusty was glad. One of them, at least, had to remain sane, or rather…insane, and the world would keep turning.

"Um, well, listen… I know I haven't talked to you for almost nine years…but I'm getting married in… well, I don't know when, but really soon."

"What?" Undeniably, it was the most shocked Dusty had ever heard her friend, and she had been around when Dusty told her she was dating Jacob Kilmer.

"Well, could you help me?" Dusty also knew that repeating herself wasn't the best thing to do, especially when Sana was in a reactionary state.

"Who is it?" She asked. Dusty was momentarily confused.

"It's Dusty."

"No, no, I know who you are, who are you marrying?" She said. Subconsciously, she could see Sana pacing the floor of wherever she was.

"I…uh…well…"

"Who, Dusty."

"Bruce Wayne."

Silence reigned for a full thirty seconds. Dusty could imagine Sana's red hair almost quivering as her mind processed the information she had just received.

"You're kidding me? As in 'Prince of Gotham' Bruce Wayne? Tall, brown hair, green eyes, killer smile?"

"Wow, you basically described him right there."

"How did you get hooked up with him?" Sana's voice was incredulous.

"Well, you know how it is, you're at work, start meeting people, and what do you know, next thing you're dating the Prince of Gotham." Dusty sat down on her bed and pulled her feet up after her. "He's a really nice guy. Promise."

Her friend sounded a little skeptical. "I dunno, Dusty, weren't you the one that said all rich guys would've been blockheads, except for the fact that they had to know how to count so they could know how much money they had?"

Dusty winced. "Did I say that?"

She could almost hear Sana smile. "Yes, but I won't hold it against you. After disappearing for eight years, you're bound to change your mind. Of course I'll help you!"

Dusty relaxed her head so suddenly, she knocked it on the headboard. "Oh, thank you." She said, wincing and rubbing the back of her head. "So…Now that we have that established… Where have you been for the past eight years?" Her voice had gone slightly quiet.

"Oh, well, I've been busy, with my job, in France."

"So that's where the French came from. I was wondering. Meet any cute guys there?" She asked, smiling.

"Well, duh. There are always cute guys in France. Not that I really liked any of them, of course."

Dusty laughed. "You were always pickier about things than me. Of course, you always got asked out a lot more than me."

"Of course. Good thing we never liked the same boys, otherwise I'd probably ruin my nails repeatedly fencing with you."

"Well, I've branched out since then."

"Great. So what are you doing now? Last I heard you were a mechanic in some place in China."

"Well, Tibet specifically, and later Beijing, but I've moved back to Gotham now. What have you been doing?" She asked, settling into her chair.

"I'm a fashion designer, actually. I went to France when I was fresh out of college at age twenty-two, there I went to a beauty school for a year, did that whole bit… and then for another year I designed fashions for the French and Americans. Then, I came back at twenty-five, started my own beauty school, and have been here ever since. Pretty much I've been doing what I said I'd do."

"Wow… you've been busy." Dusty said. Sana sighed.

"Yeah. Oh, hey, I have another call. Sorry, normally I'd bounce it, but I'm expecting someone really important to phone…"

Dusty sighed. "Ok. I'll call you tomorrow. I think we'll have the wedding day sorted out by then."

Sana seemed to smile over the phone. "Ok. I'll see you later. Bye now."

"Bye." Dusty replied. She leaned against the headboard, thinking. Then standing up, she walked to her bathroom. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she remarked, "That was interesting."

* * *

Dusty woke up bright and early the next day. She looked at her clock, 6:25. She groaned, wanting to turn over and go back to sleep. But then she realized her objective for the day, to her ultimate disgruntlement, was organizing the day of her doom, also known as her date of marriage. She almost went back to sleep. Then, biting the bullet, she sighed and rolled out of bed. Landing on the floor, she pushed herself into a handstand. Falling back onto her feet, she bent back into a backbend, and then flipped her legs over to land on her feet. Sighing, she walked into the bathroom, picked an outfit from her bureau and turned on the shower.

What would the day bring?  
By the time she'd dried her hair, and had gotten completely ready, it was seven o'clock. Pulling a jacket off the coat rack by her door, she walked out of her room. After grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl and leaving a note on the counter while passing through the kitchen, she left the house, strolling across the grounds, avoiding the wet patches from the day before. Incredibly, it seemed more like weeks since the water fight. Was that normal?

She sighed and climbed up the tree that she had hid in the other day. Over the past few weeks, ever since she discovered it, she'd spent more and more time here, amongst the leaves and the wind and just the outdoors, and yet not out in the stark wilderness. She came here whenever she needed to think about something. Lately there had been a lot to think about.

Today probably held the biggest thing of all. Leaning against the wide branch that was shaped like a chair, she pondered her problem. It wasn't as if she didn't want to get married ever, it was just the circumstances, and…She sighed. It was time to confess. It was because her mother wasn't here. In all her fantasies, her mother was present, and her father escorted her up the aisle. Sighing, she realized that if she waited for them, she wouldn't be married at all.

Suddenly her cell phone vibrated. She looked at the face of it. It was Bruce. Flipping her phone open, she said, "Hey."

"Hey, I saw your note, where about are you?" He asked.

"I'm in the willow halfway around the house." She said, leaning against the cool wood.

"Mind if I come up?" He asked. She looked down. He was looking up at her from the base of the tree.

"No, come on up." She said, flipping her phone closed. He jumped up into the tree, scaling it in less time than Dusty had. He reached her branch and sat sideways on it. Then he was silent. She didn't speak either, and for a while, they just sat enjoying the silence of the midsummer morning.

"So…" Bruce started, and then stopped himself. She turned her head toward him.

"What?"

He shrugged it off. "Nothing." Dusty wasn't convinced, but she didn't push it. Not for another five minutes, while she tried to figure out what he was going to say. When she couldn't figure it out, she spoke.

"Are you sure? You seemed kind of worried about something." Her eyes caught his, and held, almost daring him to deny her.

He sighed, "You just seemed so… unwilling last night. I really hate to force you into something like this."

Dusty looked down. "Well…I have to say I was being kind of selfish." She said. She could feel his eyes on her, and she continued, "I guess…" She looked up brushing wisps of hair out of her face, but avoiding Bruce's eyes, "I guess I didn't want to face it without my mom. I should be used to the idea that she's gone… but I'm not, really." She said, leaning her head back. The pain in her voice was an old ache, one that she didn't often bring out. Then she looked up at him. "But I will marry you. I know everything in the world won't bring her back, but I can move forward without her."

"Are you sure?" He asked. She looked at him a long moment.

"Yeah." She said. "So. When's the wedding?" She asked. Bruce laughed.

"Well, it's kind of strange that you'd be asking me, but how does mid-August sound?"

"Isn't your birthday in mid-August?" She asked.

"Yeah, why?"

Dusty pinched her eyes shut, "Because sorry to go all picky and socialite on you, but it's generally considered faux pas to have your wedding the same month as your birthday…" She said apologetically. "And my birthday's the month after, so…I guess it's October."

"Alright. Say…the twenty-third?" He said. Dusty shrugged.

"Sounds good." Dusty reflected for a moment that if one didn't know what they were talking about, they could have been making an appointment.

"So… Have you picked a wedding planner?" Bruce asked. Dusty nodded.

"Yeah, her name's SeQuina Tormont. She's an old friend." Bruce raised his eyebrows.

"One that you can get in touch with after nine years? Impressive."

Dusty laughed, "Well, since we were veritably inseparable when we were younger, I guess we could call on each other after long times apart. She seemed completely normal when I called her last night."

"Hmmm, up after ten-thirty. Typical socialite then." Dusty laughed.

Dusty said. "Sort of, only she only picks up gossip magazines if someone she knows is on the front page. She's got her own beauty school these days. And she's a certified designer. I'll probably get someone to decorate, but for the clothes and stuff, she's the lady I would trust with my life."

"How do you know?" He asked. She smiled.

"I looked through my closet this morning. I unknowingly bought a dress by her, and it's one of my favorites."

"Which one is it?" Dusty smiled.

"I think I'll keep that a secret. I thought you had most famous designers memorized."

"Well, I have the designers themselves memorized by sight. Their clothes…well no one's perfect." Dusty smiled again.

"I don't blame you. I just keep tabs on my favorites." She said. Something beeped. Bruce looked down to a gadget on his belt.

"It's Alfred. Breakfast is ready. You want to come?" Dusty sighed. Quite honestly, even as good as she was feeling, she wasn't sure if she wanted to break the marriage news to Rick. Granted, knowing him, he'd probably figured it out by now, but still. Of course, if she put it off, it would probably show, and she'd feel guilty for not telling him every time she saw him.

"Uh, sure." She said. With that, Bruce started to climb down. After he was a sufficient distance below her, she started climbing down. After Bruce jumped out of the tree, he turned around to help Dusty down.

"It's okay, Bruce, I'm fine." Bruce shrugged, blinking in the sudden sunlight that had not been visible from inside the draping leaves of the ancient willow. Dusty jumped down, stumbling slightly, grateful that Bruce was outside the leaves and walked out to join him. The sun was warm on her face, and the soothing caress of the sunbeam left her relaxed.

"It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" Bruce said as Dusty joined him.

"It's glorious. I think I'll take a book out later today and spend a few hours outside on the roof. Good call on the balcony up there." She said as they climbed up the stairs. "What are you planning to do today?" She asked.

"Um…probably do a little bit of night work, there are a few leads on Crane that I need you to look into, um… pick a suitable suit to get married in, and then eat dinner. What else are you planning to do today?"

"I think call Sana, research some more criminals, tell Rick about 'the bells', and…then _after_ lunch…" Bruce laughed as they entered the kitchen.

"Morning, Dusty." Rick said from behind a cereal box, "Hey Bruce. Say, do you think that sodium and fluorine mixed would have a bigger reaction than either of them alone?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Maybe so, considering they'd probably react to each other as well, though you probably would have to add a catalyst. How did you sleep?" She asked. Rick smiled.

"Really well. Did you know I have a bruise on my back where he dropped the garbage can on me?" His voice was eager. Bruce replied.

"I'm not surprised, Rick; however, it's generally better to jump out of the way of falling objects. Just for next time."

"We're working on that." Dusty promised.

Bruce laughed. As they ate the light breakfast of fruit and cereal, they laughed and joked. All of a sudden, Dusty, in normal conversational tone, said to Rick, "Hey, little man, Bruce and I are getting married around the twenty-third of October, is that okay with you?"

"Finally." Rick said, taking another bite of cereal. At the suddenly incredulous look on his sister and guardian's faces, he goes, "What? You guys were engaged…. That's what it means, right?" Dusty reeled in her jaw from off the table, and looked at Bruce, who looked halfway between laughing and being very, very perturbed.

* * *

After breakfast, Dusty made a call as she casually sifted through documents on her computer down in the Batcave. As she skimmed through the documents at high-class criminals and mobsters, she tried to hold back the slowly rising feelings of resentment. It bothered her that even after Bruce learned the fact that she had been on the run for a year before he showed up, he still wouldn't let her help on anything but paper pushing.

"Hey, my billionaire's fiancée! How goes it? You finally got a date for me?" Sana said before Dusty had even said her name.

"Sana, how many people have you said that to today?" She said, scrolling through an article on Carmine Falcone. A notice on the bottom of the article said, 'apprehended'.

"Only about four. So, do you have a deadline for me?" Sana asked. Dusty smiled.

"Yeah, It's October 23. Hey, what's your charge? It doesn't really matter, I'd just like to know so I can judge if I can afford to ship myself off to the Riviera for my honeymoon."

"Whoo. Honeymoon on the French Riviera. What if Bruce doesn't want to go?"

"Then I'll just go by myself. I hear that's what rich people do most of the time anyway." Dusty sighed. She clicked a random link and froze. Crane's smug face popped up on her browser. Man, the guy was creepy. Even without the crazy stories Bruce had told her. She reduced down the browser to look at later.

"Ha, ha, very funny." Sana said as Dusty shook herself. "My charge is about two thousand a week, but as a friend, this is on the house, provided you pay for all the fixings."

Dusty smiled, "So the honeymoon to France is a go?" She said.

"Book yourself some first class tickets, hon."

Both were silent for a moment. Dusty ran her fingers over the keyboard, pressing a few keys to bring up a game of solitaire, and exiting the program after moving a few cards, once again bringing up Crane's history.

"So I suppose we should meet somewhere to talk more details." Dusty said, scrolling through the details of Crane's life. All of the information that had come available since he'd disappeared was very disturbing, sending shivers up her spine.

"Yeah. Want to meet at the Starbucks on Ninth and Cannon?" Dusty laughed. The elevator opened and Bruce stepped through, putting a mug on Dusty's desk. She nodded her thanks to him as he patted her on the shoulder.

"You want to meet at a coffee shop to discuss wedding details?" She said. Bruce froze for a split second and turned around, obviously interested in her conversation. Dusty leaned back and put her feet up on her desk.

"Of course not, but it's not as if I can afford anything else." Sana said. "It's an expensive coffee shop, at least."

Dusty laughed. "That it is. However, I'm not quite sure I want to be seen in a coffee shop with one of the most prestigious designers in America. Well, not really anyway, no offense to you. Why don't you just come over here on…" She motioned Bruce over. He held out his fingers for a date. "The fourteenth?" Thank goodness for sign language. "You know, next week? That way we'll be able to do all the color things and stuff."

"Color things and stuff? That is pure Dusty if I have ever heard it." Sana said. Dusty smiled.

"Yeah, well, if there were anyone else who was me, the world would be in trouble." Bruce nodded his acknowledgement in earnest, and Dusty kicked him lightly off from where he was sitting on her desk. He smiled and he took a sip from his mug and walked over to his own desk.

"I'm hearing you there, girl. So, your place on the fourteenth." Sana said. "By the way, not to seem rude, where is your place?"

"Um…" Dusty was unsure how to put this, "The biggest house on Crescent Manor Drive."

"That's Wayne Manor."

"Oh, does it have a name?" Dusty was very nervous now, gripping her pen like there was no tomorrow.

Sana sighed, "You know I will expect you explain."

Dusty let out a very relieved breath, "Yes. I'll tell you when you get here. And I'll talk with Bruce about the colors." She said. What would only be described as coldness seeped through the phone down Dusty's spine with Sana's words. Something was wrong, and Dusty didn't have to be near Sana to sense that the designer was not happy

"You do that. I'll see you on the fourteenth, Miss Grayson." Then she hung up. Shutting off her phone, Dusty put her head in her hands and resisted the urge to cry while she composed herself.

"Dusty, what's wrong?" Bruce asked. Dusty uncovered her eyes.

"Nothing. Just not willing to research psychotic psychiatrists who try and drive people insane for fun." She said. Bruce smiled and touched her arm.

"Nice try. Your friend thinks we're more than just living in the same house, right?" Dusty sighed.

"Yeah, that's the general idea. And since we're both kind of…conservative people…" She let out a loud groan. "The fourteenth is either going to zip up on me unprepared, or this is going to be the longest week of my life."

* * *

Two things: One, I know a lot of people live for years while being engaged, but I've grown up in a rather conservative family, where basically the idea of being engaged was to get married pretty soon thereafter. Hence, therefore...etc.

Second, this may look like about four chapter stuck together. Not true. It is only two chapters stuck together, necessitated by the fact that again, one of them was filler, or very near to it, and I wanted to progress faster in the story. I hope you don't mind. ;)

Thanks to J.B. Wolfe for editing this chapter since I didn't get it to Bryt fast enough. Also, Congrats to J.B. for celebrating a birthday this month! Many best wishes.

Thanks to crazikido2, PATDfan2012, Tiz-a-Cookie, Bryt, and motherduckatschool for reviewing, and all those who added me to their Story Alert/Favorites list.

Until next week!

~Sabre


	26. Chapter Twenty Five: Bikes and Birthdays

Well, here we are, chapter 25!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five

The fourteenth chose to creep up on Dusty like a communicable disease after one was exposed. She knew pretty much exactly when it was coming, just not how bad it would be when it finally hit. She didn't need to worry. By the time Sana walked through the door, Dusty could tell that either Sana had come to terms with whatever she thought was happening, or Dusty was in for the talking-to of her life.

Introductions went easily. "Bruce, this is SeQuina Tormont, Sana, this is Bruce Wayne, my fiancé. Rick, this is Sana, Sana, this my little brother Rick." And so on. Dinner was also a nice event, with Sana being a little less forthcoming than Dusty remembered her to be, but in a fine state of mind, considering where she could be at the moment.

After dinner, dessert, and a bit of cross-questioning by Bruce in Sana's general direction, Dusty and Sana finally went on a walk on the grounds.

"So…he seems nice." Sana said, her red-gold hair shining in the lights from the house. She seemed so small compared to Dusty, making her feel protective, and overly cautious.

"He is." Taking a deep breath, she thought for a brief, vain moment: _here goes!_ Before barreling on ahead. "Sana, we're just living in the same house... home… establishment… I promise nothing…else is happening. We are just two regular adults, who happen to be engaged, who live in the same house. I have my room, and he has his. There's-" Sana burst out laughing.

"What?" Dusty felt somewhere between betrayed and embarrassed.

"Bruce already called me. I was about to hang up, but then realized that as the fiancé of my best friend, I should at least try to listen to him. Luckily I did. Didn't he tell you?" Sana's perfect smile grew as her old friend's face darkened slightly.

"No…he didn't." Dusty said peevishly. Sana patted Dusty's arm.

"Don't worry about it." Sana said, "It's a testament to how much he cares for you!" Dusty froze.

"Uh, Sana…" Dusty trailed off. Sana's eyebrows rose.

"Yes?" Sana asked. Dusty started backpedaling, deciding that she didn't want Sana to know just how horribly closed off and stubborn she'd gotten over the past eight years, and not just through impossible dreams and wishes, but by choice.

"Um, nothing. Just wanted to show you something. Watch the puddle." Dusty said, skirting a puddle that still hadn't evaporated from the water fight. She led her around to the back of the house. The moon hung huge in the sky.

"This is the view I have from my window. I'd show it to you from my actual bedroom but…" _I didn't want you to see all my weapons out where I was cleaning them this morning_, "It's better from outside. Plus, this way I can make sure we're alone." Dusty's face changed, "Seriously, how are you doing?"

"Besides being insanely jealous of your fiancé? I am terrific. It's also nice to know that you're keeping the pinky promise virtue pact we made when you were thirteen." Dusty smiled and motioned for the two women to sit down on a bench nearby.

"What about you?" Sana said, leaning back, pale skin almost glowing in the bright moonlight. "How are you doing?" Dusty balanced her two options. Tell the truth, and most likely get a very, _very_ harsh lecture from Sana, or lie and make it seem to her that she was living out her dream. Duh.

"I'm doing really, really well." As much as she hated lying to her best friend, she had no idea if Sana was telling the truth about her background, and was trying, at least for Bruce's sake, to keep herself safe. Sighing, Sana ran her hand through her hair.

"Okay, what's wrong? I know you have millions, you have a billionaire fiancé, and you found your little brother after eight years. You, by all accounts of human sanity, regardless on whether you have any or not, should be the happiest lady in the world. Spill."

Dusty sighed, thinking of what she could tell her best friend. The time for lying was over, but…the time for absolute truth had not come. She looked at her friend urgently.

"Sana, I can't tell you everything. Not only would that take the better part of several years, but also it is extremely dangerous to know everything. Bruce is a great man, and I feel it is an honor to marry him, and I can't tell you how relieved I am to find Rick, but…" She looked down, "I can't tell you everything. Not yet."

Sana nodded, "I understand. But Dusty?" Dusty looked up, meeting Sana's dark brown stare. "I will need to know sometime. When all of this is over, I want to know what kind of trouble you've gotten yourself into." Dusty smiled, and leaned forward to give her a hug.

"Thanks, Sana, you're the bestest best friend in the world." Sana leaned toward her friend and hugged her back. Dusty leaned back.

"Just FYI, and to avoid any sort of misunderstanding, I am not in trouble with the law. Just so you know." She said, poking Sana in the shoulder. Sana smirked.

"Did I say you were?"

Dusty smiled, "I could tell you were thinking it." Sana smiled, and checked her watch.

"Well, Dusty, it's time for this little designer to scamper on home. Not only do I have to find the right fabric for your wedding dress, and all the appropriate draperies, but I have to get enough sleep and eat at the same time." Dusty laughed and the two women smiled. "So, do you have your bridesmaids and groomsmen picked out?" Sana asked as they walked back to the front of the house.

Dusty smiled, "I'd like a few friends of mine to be my bridesmaids, and you to be my maid of honor. As for the other required people…I'll dig them up somewhere." Sana smiled and climbed into her car.

"I'd be honored. At any rate, I'll need measurements when you do round up your people." Sana climbed into her Mini Cooper S Convertible.

"I'll do that." Dusty promised.

As Sana drove away, with Dusty staying behind, waving at her, it was hard for her to see her old friend go. As she walked up the front steps of the manor she had a hard time not shuffling her feet and feeling like a ten year old who just had to see her friend leave when she was moving away.

Bruce came up behind her. "You feeling okay, Dusty?" He asked, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Sort of. I just… it feels wrong keeping the information about Watson from her. She's my best friend, and…" Her voice cracked, "If Watson finds out, which I'm sure he will," Dusty turned around to face him, a step down from him, "Odds are she won't be alive when it's all over with."

"We'll find a way to protect her. But for now, I think to keep her in the dark would be the best thing. She seems like a sensible enough person, and I doubt that she'll go announcing to anyone that she's your best friend." He said, taking Dusty's arm and leading her up the stairs. "For now, you need to go inside. I need to go out soon, and I need you to check my grapple gun before I go out again."

Dusty braced herself before stopping, causing him to turn around. "What is it?" He asked.

"I – I." She stopped herself momentarily before barreling on. "I want to go with you. I feel sick and tired of not doing-"

Bruce cut in smoothly, "You know I can't let you do that, Dusty. It would be taking a few giant steps backward after all we've done to make sure you're safe." Dusty bit her lip and looked away.

"Fine." She said, trying to keep the resentment from her voice, "So what's wrong with your grappling gun?"

"Dusty, you do understand? You won't go out?" He said. She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze steadily.

"Yes, I promise I will not go out, and yes, I understand perfectly. Now, what is wrong with your grappling gun?" She said.

"The motor has been having trouble lately." He said, starting to walk. She followed, catching up and keeping pace with him.

"You've probably stripped the gears, or run out the battery, I can repair either in about a half an hour. Think you can wait that long?" She asked, as they walked into the library.

"Yeah." Bruce opened the cabinet, and then turned back to Dusty. Curiously, she was looking long and hard at the piano. "What?"

Her mouth opened, then closed. She shook off the curious expression, looked up, and smiled at Bruce, "Nothing, I'm fine."

"You sure?" He asked.

"Yeah." She said, her eyes flicking up to meet Bruce's eyes before moving back to walk forward into the hidden passageway. As they both got into the elevator, Dusty became very silent, apparently deep in thought. Bruce, ascertaining she didn't want to talk about it, left it alone. Although she generally told him the things he asked her about, after letting her down, he didn't want to be even more obnoxious by pestering her about something she didn't want talk about.

The elevator hissed open, and the two adults walked out into the damp, cool air.

Two months passed quickly into a cool August, much like the year before. Before Bruce knew it, it was his birthday, and he was suddenly thirty-one. It didn't really help that Rick kept on teasing him every chance that he got, but was mildly placated that Dusty kept on reminding Rick that she was only three years younger than Bruce, and it was rude to tell a lady that she was old.

The morning of Bruce's birthday, the house was abuzz. As it was a Tuesday morning, Dusty and Bruce were frantically trying to get ready for work. Well, more like Bruce was doing his best to unobtrusively hinder Dusty while she was getting ready. Finally, in exasperation, she gave him a leveling stare, and asked, "Do you actually want something, or you just having fun making me late for work?"

Bruce smiled, "A little of both. I want to know what you got me for my birthday."

Dusty smiled back and tapped his nose playfully; "You will just have to wait along with everyone else until this evening, barring any Gotham City takeovers." She grabbed her purse, smoothed her blue pinstriped dress suit and sighed, checking her watch, "Well, I need to run, otherwise I won't be able to use traffic as an excuse."

Bruce followed her to the door of the garage. "Need anything?" He asked. She shook her head.

"Just kind of nervous about this interview. I mean, AP is one thing, but…. manager is another thing."

"Dusty, you're the only one in your department." He said, leaning against the door, trying not to put too much feeling into his voice. Honestly, he was tempted to laugh, which wasn't something Dusty would take lightly.

"I know, but still. It's just kind of the word 'interview' or 'speech' that makes me feel rather nervous. Especially if it's one on one with Mr. Fox. Please don't tell him I said that." She said, visibly resisting the urge to run her hands through her hair, which was in an exquisite bun.

"Not unless under extreme torture." He said. She smiled, smoothing her skirt again. "Hey." He said. She looked up. "Relax. You've known Mr. Fox for a year. Why get worried now? He'd promote you without the interview, only it's against company policy to do so."

She smiled and tilted her head to the side. "And why is that?" He grimaced.

"Corruption and inept managers." He said.

"Ah."

"Quite so." He agreed. "So, you should probably scoot. But first, a good luck kiss from the birthday boy. Tradition." Before she could say a word, he leaned forward and gave her a peck on the lips.

Trying to gather herself into a slightly functional state, she remarked, "I'm not sure you really qualify as a boy anymore."

He sighed dramatically, "Well, it sounds better than 'birthday man'."

"Yeah." She said quietly, "Well," She grabbed her keys out her purse, "I have to run."

"See you later!" Bruce said as Dusty ran down the steps of the garage, climbed into her car. Dusty waved as she started her car, and then drove off down the driveway and out of sight.

Dusty sighed, her lips still tingling, and was very grateful that he didn't question her further about what she was going to get him. Truth be told, if she told him she was going to get him anything similar to what she was actually going to get him, he… well, to be completely fair, she wasn't sure what he would do. Most likely he would probably laugh.

However, going to pick up said item was going to be stickier than she thought. She supposedly only had an interview that day, which shouldn't take more than an hour, tops, before she left for her appointment with the contractors and yet it was going to take almost an hour round-trip, let alone the time to fill out all the papers and everything. Thankfully, there wasn't really any interview. Well, actually, there was, but she had it last week, and was technically taking a day off. It was a miracle that they'd been able to hide all of this from Bruce in the first place, and then another miracle that it was now being pulled off without a hitch.

The reason she'd dressed up, however, was also a different reason. She was also off to meet the wedding contractors, and with Sana by her side, she was going to arrange where it was to be held, what flowers to be used, and so on. As she drove, she watched the scenery, seeing the greens of late summer blend into a steady stream as she coaxed more speed out of her Mazda.

* * *

She made it there in about twenty-five minutes. Striding inside, breathing in the scent of leather and gasoline fumes, she felt strangely at home. Walking up to the front desk of the Harley Davidson store, she put on her most authoritative, intimidating smile, and spoke to the cashier.

"Hello, my name is Justine Grayson. I believe I ordered a motorcycle a few weeks ago. I was informed that it would be in today." The heavily bearded and tattooed man gave the very primly dressed Dusty a rather incredulous look. Her look hardened slightly.

"Grayson?" He asked, his voice deep and slightly rough. She nodded once. He checked his stack of papers. Pulling one file out of a mass of others, he checked the name.

"VRSCD Night Rod?" he said, giving her another once-over, "Are you riding it home?"

Putting on her best innocent, vulnerable voice, "Didn't you fit it with the side gas pedal like I asked?" Her eyes, however contradicted her voice with a slightly mocking, but very amused stare.

The biker knew better than to answer that question. One look at her and he felt as vapid as the personality she had just put on. He took the folder and motioned for her to follow him.

"If you'll just follow me, Ms. Grayson." He said, grabbing his jacket off of the desk. She walked obediently behind him, to a storage area.

"You keep your bikes in storage garages? Won't they get weathered?" She asked.

"Each garage has a special insulation, as well as temperature control. Not that they need it here on the east coast. It's pretty much temperate all year round, excepting this last year." He said gruffly, sounding grudgingly impressed at how much she knew about the upkeep of vehicles. If only he knew.

"Wow. So, could I ask someone to deliver it to my house, or do I have to take it myself? I was informed that I needed to come myself to confirm, but they said I could have someone bring it back for me." The guy paused, unlocking one of the garages, giving her slightly weirded out look. Impressions or not, it was still odd to hear techno-babble from someone who looked like her. Then he turned back to his job, and opened the door. Stepping back, he let her walk in first, to let her view a covered vehicle. After he closed the door behind him, he took the cover off the black motorcycle.

"Perfect." She told him. He nodded.

"So…if you don't mind me asking…." He trailed off. Dusty smiled a bit to herself, before answering what she knew he was wondering about.

"No, it's not for me. But I will most likely borrow it once in a while." She said, touching the leather seat softly.

"Ah. So, where do you want it delivered?" He asked.

"Number Three, Crescent Manor Drive at exactly five thirty this afternoon." She said, folding her arms.

"You want it delivered to Bruce Wayne's house?" He asked incredulously.

"Why not? It's his birthday." She said, as if this was obvious. It was actually rather fun to mislead people.

"Do you know him?" He asked, sounding even more weirded out.

"Very well." She said, "Of course, if I didn't, it would be illegal to 'borrow' his motorcycle, yes?" She continued conversationally.

"Er…yes. So, Bruce Wayne's house, at exactly five thirty." He said, writing it down on his clipboard. Dusty nodded.

"Where do I sign?" She asked. He pointed to a place on the clipboard, and she signed it quickly and neatly.

"There!" She said, handing the clipboard back to the large man and started to walk away. Pulling the cover back over the motorcycle, the somewhat bewildered man followed the authoritative young woman out of the garage.

"Well," He said, trying to sound like he wasn't confused, "We'll have it over there at five thirty. Want anything else on it? Bows, cards, girls…" At the look on her face, he stopped and cleared his throat. "Never mind. We'll have it over there on time."

She smiled and walked into the building, with the man obediently following, giving her the receipt and the registration for the vehicle, "Thank you. I will let you know if I ever want to buy another motorcycle. Good-bye!" he shook his head as she walked out the door. One of his friends walked up.

"Who was that, Jack?" Jack shook his head, stymied by the classy, bossy young woman who had somehow managed to make him feel more nervous than he had in a long time.

"I have no clue."

* * *

Dusty climbed in the car, tucking the motorcycle's papers in a portfolio she'd left on the front seat. As she sat down, her cell phone vibrated. She looked at the front.

Bruce.

Drat. Putting on her best relieved voice, she picked up the phone. Thank goodness Mr. Fox was in on her story.

"Hey, what's up?" She asked, starting her car, backing up faster than what was probably legal.

"I need to know your password onto your desktop." Dusty pulled in her chin as she sped onto the highway back into Gotham.

"Why?" She could almost hear the sneakiness in his voice.

"I need to look on your profile of Crane." He said. She heard a creak, and knew instinctively that he was looking through the kitchen.

"I sent that to you before I left. And the cookie dough ice cream is for your party, so don't go eating it right now." She said, coaxing her Mazda above seventy miles per hour. She looked at the clock. It was almost eleven. She had fifteen minutes until her appointment. Looking at the speedometer in her car, she realized if she…well, broke the law, she could make it with less than five minutes to spare. Drat. Then again…keeping cover?

"But I'm hungry." Bruce protested, interrupting her thoughts.

"Bruce, if you want something to eat, ask Alfred. Either that or make something yourself. I know you know how to cook. Well, sort of." She said, making her decision and speeding up to ninety after moving out of range of a highway patrolman.

"Fine. When will you be home?" He asked. She swerved around a semi, and then answered.

"Around one. I'm on my way to the planning appointment with Sana and that one lady who's finding the building." She said, taking the exit into Gotham, and slowed down to about sixty, then sliding around a corner to the backstreets, she whipped through them. Thank goodness she'd been studying the maps lately.

Bruce started to say something. "You know what, Bruce, hold on for a second." She said, dropping the phone into her lap, and fishtailed around a tight corner. Picking up the cell phone, she apologized. "What were you going to say?"

"Oh, I was just looking at the color swatches you left around and I agree with you - navy blue is going to be our best bet at the wedding. What was the screeching noise?" He asked. Dusty calmly answered.

"Some crazy driver in a Mazda, don't worry about it." She said, turning out onto the main street of Gotham, and speeding up. Bruce was silent for a moment.

"Dusty, how fast are you going?" He asked, suddenly sounding very suspicious. She decelerated as fast and as safely as she could.

"Fifty-five." She said truthfully, turning on her turn signal and slowing down to turn the corner into the wedding planner's office parking lot, then, finding a parking place near the door, she pulled her car to a stop and turned it off. "It doesn't matter, I just got to the planner's office."

"You can go fifty-five in downtown Gotham?" He asked.

"Apparently at eleven fifteen in the morning you can. There actually wasn't that much traffic this morning." She said. True enough, she'd bypassed it on the side streets. Trying to get by Wayne Tower at any time of the day was about as easy as getting through any super-city in the world at rush-hour: Utterly impossible, unless the world was ending.

"Really? Well, that's some news. What a birthday present. Gotham has outdone itself." He said. A door slammed somewhere in the background on his end. Dusty gathered up her notes and measurements that she had gathered, and then stepped out of the car.

"Tell me about it. Next year I'll just spend the whole day cruising around." She said, walking toward the building, "So, what are you doing?" She asked, opening the building door. Nodding at the receptionist, she walked across the lobby of the building and pressed the button for the elevator.

"Looking at the profile for Crane. What about you?" He asked, sounding preoccupied.

"Waiting for a very slow elevator. I'm on my way up to Sana and What's-her-name. Navy blue, you said? What about the midnight blue, did you look at that one?" She said remembering something Sana had said.

"Yeah…ooh. That's a nice color. Okay, on second thought, either navy or midnight blue, your choice. When are you going shopping for a dress?" He asked, there was a brief rattle and then a clunk. "Ow!"

"What happened?" Dusty asked, a little worried. If he was breaking into her desk, there would be the devil to pay when she got back.

"Ow! Nothing. Knocked a paperweight off my desk. Nothing to worry about." He said, the pain his voice at least somewhat calming her suspicions, at least for now.

"Did you knock it onto your foot?" She asked, as the elevator opened. She walked into it.

"No." he said defensively, "Just bumped it on my knee. I'm not a complete klutz."

Dusty laughed as the bell announcing her arrival at the appropriate floor went off. "Well, Bruce, I have to go. Sana was never tolerant of her own cell phone, let alone other people breaking etiquette therein. See you when I get back, and stay out of the fridge."

"Bye, Dusty."

"Bye, Bruce." She said, flipping her phone closed. She went to the appropriate door, and knocked. The door opened to Sana's bright face, her red hair pulled back into a stylish up do, held up with only a pencil and a pen.

"Dusty! Glad you could make it. This is Glynis Sherrod." She drew aside to see a severe older woman. "She's the best in the business, and she is very good at getting what she goes for." Dusty shook Ms. Sherrod's hand.

"Glynis, this is Justine Grayson. She's the one who's getting married to Bruce Wayne." Sana said. Ms. Sherrod inclined her head.

"Very nice to meet you, Ms. Grayson. Miss Tormont has given me the details, and I have chosen a few places. If you could follow me, we'll take you to a few of the locations…"

* * *

I know the biker was a little cliche...sorry about that.

Well, thanks to Bryt for at least glancing through it. I know you haven't had a lot of time this week.

Also thanks to motherduckatschool, Bryt, BookWormSara, and Tiz-a-Cookie for reviewing.

Also, thanks to everyone who added me to Story Alert, and to those who looked through my Pirates story on its last week of like. Man, I feel like I've killed one of my own children.

Anyway, please review!

~Sabre


	27. Chapter Twenty Six: The Price of Regrets

Another excessively long chapter.

Not that I really think you mind.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Dusty, what is taking you so long?" Bruce paced outside of her bathroom, running his hand over her desk.

"Bruce, you can go downstairs if you want. I'll be right there." She said from inside the closed door. He sighed.

"Are you sure? Don't you think, for the sake of everything else, we should make our entrance together?" He asked.

"I didn't mean the big stairs, but the ones right off to the side of those." She said, shifting around. There was a clack of heels on the floor.

"Fine."

"I'll see you there. I'll be out shortly." She said. Bruce walked out of the room. She'd been keeping him in suspense all day, disappearing into her room a few minutes before four to start getting ready. It was now almost seven.

He got down to the stairs in record time. Rick was already there, dressed in his own suit, looking the entire world like a very short college professor. They greeted each other with rather sullen hellos, each wondering where on earth Dusty could be, until there was a soft rustle of silk.

Bruce looked up, and only long hours flirting with supermodels and actresses kept his mouth from falling open. She was wearing _the_ dress. The dark blue one. Her hair was in a chignon, while a gold gilded flower with sapphires, topazes and diamonds rested in her hair. She looked perfect.

"I'm here." She said anticlimactically, as she shifted nervously. She noticed Rick and Bruce looking at the dress. She turned around nervously, the long skirt slightly twisting around her legs as she completed her circle, "Does it look alright? I wasn't sure…" Bruce walked up the three stairs, cutting in smoothly.

"It looks wonderful. I think you're going to show me up as the most sought after person here." Dusty laughed.

"I doubt it. You're more attractive than me anyway." She said, taking Bruce's arm, and walking down the steps with him. Rick walked beside Bruce on his other side. As Bruce, Dusty, and Rick walked down the stairs, the crowd suddenly seemed to assemble at the foot of the stairs for them.

"Happy Birthday" started up almost immediately from the orchestra, and after a short introduction, the whole crowd was singing along with them. After the usual embarrassment interlude where one shuffles their feet, tries not to feel awkward and smiles humbly was over, and once Bruce got to the bottom of the stairs, the crowd commenced chattering once again. Dusty and Bruce threw themselves into socializing, while Rick stuck to Dusty like glue.

Somewhere in the course of talking about meaningless things with people whose names she couldn't even remember, she caught the sight of Selina talking with Bruce. Trying to fight some sort of sick angry feeling in her stomach, she politely disengaged herself from the conversation she was having, and started to make her way over to Bruce and Selina. As she did, however, she bumped into another man, whose hair was graying, but still stood like a twenty-five year old man. As she turned to apologize, her heartbeat accelerated so fast through fear that she felt dizzy for a moment as she recognized him.

"Justine, what a surprise." David Watson said, looking around somewhat disdainfully, "I didn't take you as social butterfly type."

"Oh, I'm not. It's my fiancé's birthday today. I take it that's why you're here." She said, fighting to keep herself, both her manner and her voice, steady. He stepped a little closer, his eyes glittering menacingly. Inwardly, she begged someone – anyone - to come and rescue her. But she knew it was in vain. His posture was too relaxed, his tone too casual to cause undue alarm in any of the people around her.

"Not exactly. However, Justine, if you are not the social butterfly type, then why have you been seen frequently at all the 'right' parties, with your husband-to-be?"

Dusty's heart thudded in her chest as she struggled for an answer. She had to calm down, she couldn't let him see the panic that she was feeling, so she put on a cool voice and replied, "It comes with the money."

"You wouldn't be _hiding_ from me, would you?" He asked almost playfully, catching her gaze, freezing her with his ice-blue stare. Dusty tried to suppress the fear, replace it, do _anything_ to get rid of it, but she knew she couldn't hide it from him. Watson knew everything, if not by observation, then by intuition.

"No." She said, breaking his gaze, "Just trying to get on with my life. Some people don't want to be murderers, Watson." She said, loading her voice with hate, and turning away. Hurriedly, she tried to escape, but he took her arm in a grip that looked like it was gentle, but was far more than uncomfortable.

"You received my message. I know you did, and I know you read it. Selina failed to give you the second one, but it is of little consequence." She looked up into his deceptively calm blue eyes, "Your time is running out, Justine. My patience is running out. I will not force you to come for your punishment, but if you keep on delaying the inevitable, you will find the inevitable much worse than you could possibly imagine." His tone was soft and dangerous, just rough enough around the edges to make it seem threatening, but not rough enough to attract undue attention.

"Then why not just take me? You know where I live, where I work, even what I'm capable of." She said, keeping her voice low and her tone even.

"Your fiancé has done a very smart thing. Were we to kidnap you, it would be known due to your high profile, and our organization would be exposed were you to escape, or if your death were to be investigated." His eyes hardened, "But the time will come, Justine, when your social status will not protect you. Should you give yourself up, we will not kill you."

"Just punish me for something that I have done only because I had no other choice? You were asking me to kill someone, Watson!" She hissed. He looked around carefully, making sure no one heard her. Then he turned back to her, his eyes blazing with heated dislike, bordering on loathing.

"It was your duty, and you shirked it." He hissed back, ends of his words clipped and biting, all when the volume of his voice was little over a whisper. "This is your last warning, Justine. Next time I send you a message, you will be dealing with a force you cannot refuse." He said, releasing her arm, smiling for the benefit of the crowd, and then turning to walk away. Looking down at her arm, she flexed her fingers, feeling the blood rush back into her hand. Watching Watson walk out of the room, she shivered. Her last stronghold had been invaded.

The words doom and terror came to mind.

Someone touched her arm. This time, she spun around, her hand ready to strike. Bruce caught her wrist before the heel of her hand smashed into his face. Immediately, he took her by the hand, leading her to a secluded spot in the room. "What is it, Dusty? You haven't taken a swing at anyone in months."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Shaking away the tears of fear that were threatening her, she wrung her wrists nervously.

"Watson." She whispered, trying to gain her composure, "Watson was here."

If Bruce Wayne blanched, this would've been the time. As it was, he swallowed, composing himself, and then looked around, "Is he still here?" Dusty shook his head.

"He left. But Se-" Selina's name died on her tongue as she remembered that she hadn't told Bruce about Selina. "But I recognize a few people here that are in his unit." She said.

Bruce sighed, "Can I have just one birthday party where the League of Shadows doesn't show up?" Dusty smiled minutely, calmed slightly by Bruce's hand on her arm. Boy, she was getting it bad. Although she couldn't – or wouldn't – admit it, she was bit by bit becoming very attached to Bruce Wayne.

The clock chimed. Dusty turned her head toward toward it, reading the hands on the grandfather clock. Showtime. Fighting down a surge of brand new panic, she turned back to Bruce.

"Bruce, I need to go for a minute. Keep an eye out for James McTaverly, eh?" She said, patting his arm, and slipping away.

"Is James here? I didn't see him." Bruce asked, scanning the room quickly.

Dusty paused, obviously not having realized this. "If he's not here, there will be words later. If you do see him, tell him I'm over by the piano." She said succinctly, and then disappeared into the crowd leaving a very confused Bruce. As Dusty walked away, Sana walked up, resplendent in a forest green silk dress.

"Well, I suppose I should say happy birthday." She said, smiling gently, cradling her goblet in her hand. Bruce turned and shook her hand.

"I'm very glad you could make it. As I understand it, you're leaving tomorrow?"

Sana smiled, "Yeah. I have to go to France for a fashion show." She said. As she spoke, a tall man with curly brown hair and kind brown eyes walked up to Bruce. Nodding in apology to Sana, he offered his hand to Bruce.

"Hey, Bruce, how's it going? I haven't seen you since Sydney last year." He said. Bruce took a side-glance at Sana. Her face was perfectly composed, but there was a brief flicker of something underneath the surface. He'd have to ask Dusty about it later.

"Yeah, it's great to see you, James. Oh, Dusty said to meet her over by the piano." He said, shaking James's hand warmly. Recognition flashed across James's face as whatever they were up to dawned on him.

"Oh, yeah. Well, it's good to see you. I'll talk to you later." He caught a look at Sana, and there was an imperceptible pause before he nodded politely to her. The tall man walked over to the piano, and as Bruce watched, greeted Dusty with a kiss on each cheek.

After a few minutes of them talking intently, James stood, and a violinist walked over to her music stand. Dusty picked up the microphone and said, "Excuse me, if I could have your attention." Bruce looked at her in surprise. All traces of fear and unease had vanished, and in her place stood a leader, a person who wasn't afraid of anything. "I would like to start the dancing off with a song, dedicated to my amazing fiancé."

James started the introduction of the song. Bruce held his breath. He'd never heard Dusty sing before, except for 'Happy Birthday' and she'd pretty much bombed it. Granted, it wasn't the easiest or most flattering song to sing, but he was actually pretty worried, considering she didn't often take criticism lying down.

But apparently the combination of low notes, and the fact that she wasn't trying to belt it out as loud as she could, helped immensely. It wasn't that her voice was especially amazing or soothing, it was just…her. To a person who knew her as well as Bruce did, her voice personified her, and was what he optimistically thought she might sound like. _And that was probably the most obvious thing I have ever said_, Bruce thought to himself, before he focused fully on Dusty's song.

Once she was done, and after the clapping was done, Dusty went over to James, thanked him, and walked off the stage. After she stepped down, Bruce walked up to her and kissed her on the forehead, enveloping her in his arms.

"Thank you. I mean it. It was just beautiful." He said. She smiled, leaning her cheek against his shoulder.

"You were worth every nerve-racking minute. If it isn't painfully obvious by now, I'm no singer. It just seemed...well, appropriate." She replied. He looked into her eyes, and something seemed…deeper than normal. After looking into her eyes for a moment longer, he escorted her to the dance floor. Bowing slightly, he had a request.

"May I have this dance?" He asked, holding out his hand. She smiled and put her gloved hand in his.

"Of course." Drawing her close, he moved into a slow foxtrot. Following his lead, she leaned her head against his, and breathed in the scent of his cologne. They danced a few moments in silence, except for the orchestra and the voice of the hired singer, until Bruce spoke.

"Look at Sana." Dusty drew back, and looked at her old friend. She and James McTaverly were dancing slowly, looking into each other's faces. Due to the nine-inch difference in their height, the lights from the chandelier cast a gorgeous glow over Sana's face as she gazed up at him. "Would you mind telling me what that look is on her face?" He asked, "It looks rather familiar for some reason."

Dusty smiled and looked back at him, "I believe that's her 'shock-and-awe-I-think-I'm-in-love' expression. James is a good guy for her actually. Very sweet, and one of the most trustworthy I know."

"Speaking of him, when did _you_ meet James? I met him during a gala where I was sponsoring the Gotham Symphony Orchestra, but I didn't know he knew you." He asked. Dusty's indulgent face turned on.

"You forget, my parents were people of 'the arts'. James has been playing the piano – and has been famous - forever. He actually taught me how to play." She said.

"You can play the piano?" He asked, interested. He hadn't really seen her artistic side. Dusty shrugged.

"Not as well as I used to. I haven't played for quite a while, and I'm kind of afraid to start after not practicing. As piano playing isn't exactly athletic, it wasn't one of the things they taught at TMFA." She said. Lines on Bruce's forehead creased.

"Why do you still call it the TMFA?" He asked, his voice casual, "I figured after all that has happened to you there, you wouldn't refer to it as a fake college."

She sighed, "I prefer to think of things in a positive light. If I don't, I'm too often dragged down into a slum that it's nearly impossible to pull myself out of. But I also learned good things from there," at Bruce's rather skeptical look, she sighed, "If you look past the obvious setbacks, they taught me how to defend myself, how to keep fit, how to keep others safe-" Bruce put a finger close to her lips.

"I get your point, and I stand corrected." He said, and twirled her around as the song ended.

She smiled, "Good." As the orchestra started up another song, Dusty's smile faded, and her eyes suddenly seemed miles and miles away. Bruce's smile dimmed.

"You're worried." He said. She seemed to wake up.

"Of course I'm worried. The man who wants to kill me has just visited my house, claiming he just wants to punish me, and let me go, and then leaves. The average person would be a little…unnerved." She said, pulling away, and heading off the dance floor. Bruce moved to catch up with her, only to be caught by Sana.

"Let her go, Bruce. She'll only freak out worse." The short redhead said. Sana gave him a watered down 'Look' and Bruce had the faint feeling he was looking down the barrels of a loaded double-barreled shotgun.

"Fine." He said, repressing the urge to forcefully shrug her off. It wasn't Sana, but the frustration of everything. Something about seeing Dusty under a lot of stress was simply wrong. He felt Sana's hand tighten and start to pull.

"Come on, Bruce. Share a dance with me." She said, pulling him onto the dance floor.

* * *

Dusty watched Sana lead Bruce back onto the dance floor, her heart sinking. The lively music seemed to clash with her dark, frightened mood, and made her feel like slinking back to her rooms.

"What are you doing lurking back here?" Rachel's voice made Dusty jump, and the only thing that kept her from dispatching Rachel - purely by accident – was gripping the curtains tighter than a medical tourniquet.

"Well…I was…" Dusty tried to pull herself together. "I was just stepping out for a breath of fresh air." Dusty said, putting on a careless face that felt as phony as a rubber knife. Rachel looked around Dusty into the ballroom.

"Why isn't Bruce out here with you? You two are pretty much inseparable now." She said. Dusty turned slightly away from Rachel.

"He's dancing with my wedding councilor-cum-maid-of-honor." She said, knowing how bad it was sounding. Not only the fact that Bruce was dancing with a person who grooms had been known to run off with, and the fact that she was sounding as jealous as she felt. Confounded emotions.

Rachel smiled, "Better watch your back, Dusty." Dusty tried to smile back, glad that Rachel was turned, watching the spectacle, so she could arrange her rebellious features into the proper expression.

"Well, Sana's an old friend, and she just met someone who she looked pretty interested in. Plus, I have a pretty confident feeling that I hooked Bruce a little better than that." She said, trying to keep the lightness in her voice. It was a battle that was going downhill every second. "Well, I'm going to run up to my room for a second to grab something. Have fun, I'll be down in a minute." She said, turning around, and moving gracefully away, restraining herself almost forcefully to keep from running up the stairs.

"I'll see you later, Dusty." Rachel called after her.

"You too, Rachel." Dusty said, forcing herself to stop and turned around. After one last wave, she waited until Rachel had gone into the ballroom, and then rushed up the stairs, fleeing down the hallway, and the ran into her room and slammed the door shut, flipping on the lights as fast as she could.

Leaning against the door, she surveyed her room before she started searching every nook, cranny and hiding place until she had searched everything but her vanity. Turning to the white desk with the marble countertop, she saw, to her horror, was a black envelope. Running to the desk, she ripped it open with more force than necessary, surveying the contents, and gasping, trying not to sob out of fear.

_Dusty_

_ This, I am told, belongs to you. Watch your friends carefully. It would be a shame for them to disappear._

_W._

Breathing hard, she ran to her bedside table, she opened the secret back she'd installed inside her drawer and pulled out the letters. Watson had been wrong. She'd gotten all of the letters Selina had sent her. She'd also seen all of the different members spying on her and Bruce whenever she'd ventured outside the manor. Casting her eyes over the threatening letters, she searched for hidden messages.

_Dusty_

_ You're trying my patience. Give yourself in now, and you will only be punished._

_ W._

Underneath, in her own handwriting the date was scrawled: February 14th.

_Dusty _

_ Do you not see hiding is futile? I will find you, and it will not be pleasant when I do. Give yourself in now, and I will show you mercy._

_ W._

March 22nd.

_Dusty,_

_ You're playing with death. Do not think that you will not pay for it. Give yourself up, and the consequences in will not be as severe as they would be otherwise._

_ W._

July 15th.

Leaning back in her chair, she noticed for the first time that tears were running down her cheeks.

"I have to leave." She said to herself, not caring what language it came out in. "They're in danger. I have to go." Dusty stood, wiping her eyes, grateful she had opted for light make-up and drew out her suitcase and gym bag. Running to the closet, she grabbed a few non-descript tee shirts and blue jeans, as well as a hoodie or two, and packed them in her pack. Taking most of the weapons that were lying around her room, she packed them into her bag as well, feeling grateful that the gilded flower had a sharp point.

Then her door opened. Alfred stood in the door way, taking in her tear streaked face and the half packed bag, then he crossed the room, and shut her bag.

"I don't believe Master Bruce has been notified that you're going anywhere." He said softly. Dusty remained silent, trying to stop her tears from flowing, and pretend nothing was wrong, despite the fact being a little more than blindingly obvious.

"That's probably a good thing, Alfred." She said, once she'd stopped her tears. "That way he won't be able to tell anyone where I've gone." She opened up her suitcase and resumed packing.

"And why are you leaving? I believe that would be taking the jealous fiancée act a little too far. Don't you think so, Miss Grayson?" She sighed, packing up her make-up.

"It's not about that, Alfred. I –" she tried to form an excuse that sounded good enough to tell Alfred, but nothing believable came to mind. "Watson's coming after me." She said, giving up all pretenses of falsehood.

"I am aware of that fact, miss." He said. She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with them.

"He was here tonight. At the party, and afterwards in my room, he left a note…" She went into the bathroom and retrieved the notes for him to look at. "He's coming to get me, Alfred. Soon. And if I don't run now, he's going to use you, Sana, Bruce, Rick anyone he can get his hands on for leverage against me."

"What did you do that was so terrible, Miss Grayson, if you don't mind my asking?" Dusty slumped against her bedpost.

"I was – I was…" She tried to force the words out but nothing would come. Finally she wrenched the words out, feeling every word like a hot poker against her bare skin. "I was on my final mission. None of the trainees are told how they are inducted until they are put to the test. My…my mission was to poison a village using a sulfuric acid and strychnine compound, using it through their water supply. I couldn't do it…"

As she told Alfred, the pain, the disbelief flooded back through her, as if she was again in the cold mountain air.

_"I can't do it, Watson. What did they do?" Dusty said, her hair whipping in the wind. Her master stood firm in his orders, shouting back at her as they stood above the cold mountain spring that ran through the village._

_ "They have done evil, and must be punished. Beyond that, it doesn't matter!" He said, thrusting the vial of toxic substance into her hand. _

_ "So I'm just supposed to follow blindly, is that it? I'm supposed to kill people for a reason I'm not even aware of? I won't do it! I told you I would never kill anyone!" She shouted back over the howling wind. Watson's eyes narrowed._

_ "You were nineteen! You have been trained and conditioned to do what is necessary. You are turning your back on justice!" He said, his voice carrying a threatening tone that jolted down Dusty's spine. _

_ "You've taught me to defend myself and others! Justice is about making someone pay for the evil they have done, but not only have you not explained what they have done, but you're making it seem like they haven't done anything, and I'm expected to follow your every command, simply because you give the order!" She said. Watson's body went rigid. She'd crossed over a line. Fury was etched into ever line in his stance, and fear was jolting through her like electricity from a defibrillator. _

_ "Just do it, Justine!" He shouted. She looked at him, her face stoic and hurt. She couldn't turn away from him. She knew she could not make him see things the way she did, but also that he would not hesitate to kill her because of the choice she did make. Would she run away, or would she do as she asked. She looked at the vial of clear liquid in her hand. Could she really kill them? Would she?_

_ Was there even really a choice? "I will not kill innocent people, Watson. Count on it." She whispered, her voice loaded with every ounce of disgust and certainty she could manage. Then, as fast as professional baseball player's fastball, she threw the vial at him. It shattered as it hit his armor, glass being no match for his metal breastplate. The acid started eating though his armor, sending an acrid smell through the air. "Do it yourself!" She screamed, then turned and ran away from him. She needed to get to the monastery before he did, otherwise she would probably not survive the night._

_ "Justine!" He screamed, the poisonous acid reaching his skin and starting to spread, "Grayson!" _

_ She didn't listen, running up the mountain with the fitness of seven years of training paying off in a way she would never feel better about. She reached the monastery in half the time it had taken to get to the spring. Greeting friends and dodging enemies was a burden as she tried to hurry through as fast as she could, finding her way up to her room, taking all of the many gadgets she'd accumulated over the years, and stuffing them into her gym bag that for some reason she'd hung onto. Tearing off her armor, she threw it in, packing her clothes around it, checking the door every few minutes. Finally she was finished. As she took her gym bag and threw it around her shoulders, a bang was heard throughout the monastery. _

_ Instinctively she knew it was him. She ran out her room, running into the back hallways, heading toward the derelict part of the building that was being renovated from the fire earlier that year. _

_ "Grayson!" Came a roar behind her. Looking behind her, she saw Armstrong, a large beefy man, who had the physique and presence of a professional wrestler, bearing down on her, his trademark bullwhip in hand. She ran faster, hurtling around corners fast than was probably safe, and barely missing the cracking bullwhip as it whistled over her head. _

_ As she came to the ruins, she had to slow down slightly, carefully placing her feet over the charred boards. The resounding thumps of Armstrong's footsteps jarred her footing and as she ran lightly across the black wooden floors, Armstrong's weight and carelessness made them creak and crack. _

_ After a while, she wasn't sure how far he was behind her, before she found out in the least pleasant way possible. The whip Armstrong held cracked across her back, leaving a line of pain and blood, and also nearly severing her gym bag shoulder strap. Tripping, trying not to convulse in the sudden pain, she crashed through the weak floor, landing on her side ten feet below, unconscious. Armstrong surveyed the young woman for a moment before pulling out his radio._

_ "It's done. She's on the lower level of the burnt out portion. Send in a retrieval team in right away. My work here is done." With that, he walked away._

_ Dusty woke almost immediately, her back inflamed with pain. After Armstrong's footsteps faded, she moved slowly and carefully. Looking to her right, she saw the bright light of the outdoors. Standing up shakily, she climbed over the broken and burnt railings, carefully avoiding the holes in the floor. Slowly, agonizingly, she finally made it outside and headed for the valley. _

"I headed for Beijing, knowing that I could get a job in a city where there were at least a few American businessmen, and I wouldn't be too conspicuous, but he found me again. After that, I headed back to Gotham. I'm not sure why, but it just felt…right." She said, having sunk down to sit on the bed. Alfred sat beside her.

"Excuse my forwardness, miss, but I believe it would be a huge mistake to leave right now." He said gently, managing to make her feel like an adult while counseling her like a child. "You are bound to people here, and were you to suddenly leave, no matter your intentions, they would think you were abandoning them. As if they weren't a strong enough force to keep you here."

"But that's not true!" She protested, "They're both the closest-" Alfred nodded.

"I know that, and you know that, but without explanation, they might not see it that way. My suggestion is tell Master Wayne all that you've told me after the party tonight, and then make sure he understands your position, and what you feel you need to do." He paused, "And then listen to him." Dusty nodded, wiping her nose on her hand. Alfred handed her a handkerchief, and then pulled her make-up bag out of her open suitcase, handing it to her.

"You might need this."

* * *

Dusty walked carefully down the stairs, using her skills to get down the stairs without attracting attention. Making her way to the ballroom, she braced herself for Bruce to come and reprimand her for abandoning him during the ball, but only Rick was looking for her, intent on telling her he was going to bed. Upon her asking about Bruce, he replied, "He's talking to Sana."

"Still?" She threw a glance toward the ballroom, seeing the Bruce and Sana standing in a corner of the room, conversing almost intently. A very unpleasant feeling rose in her chest, and as she fought it down, she stayed where she was, remembering the look on Sana's face when she had seen James, and noticed that that look was absent on her face right now as she looked at Bruce.

She would wait. Though she was worried, she trusted Sana.

* * *

"So what's Dusty been doing?" Sana asked, close to ten minutes after their dance had ended. Bruce looked around for his fiancée. After casing the room quickly and not seeing her, he responded.

"Mostly mechanics. I suppose she told you she got promoted to Manager of Applied Sciences?" He said, not seeing her. She probably wouldn't be too thrilled to find out that they'd been talking about her, but it was a relief to talk about Dusty to someone who knew her before her parents had died.

"Yes, she did. She seemed quite excited about it, though from what I understand there wasn't really any question whether she would get the position or not." Sana said, smiling.

"Yeah, well, it was more a formality than anything. With more and more paperwork piling up on Mr. Fox's desk every day, we needed someone who could legally work in there alone." He said. At her blank look, he explained. "AP's, by company policy, can only work on a project, or open a project alone when the Manager is completely invalid or unreachable. And they can own their own set of keys." Sana smiled.

"That alone would convince Dusty to become a manager. That and the fact that she'd only have to control herself. I suppose you've noticed she's kind of a control freak?" Sana said.

"Not especially. I know she likes to have control of the things that are around her, but I've never seen her try to take control over anyone else and make them do something." He said, glancing around the ballroom, trying to find out where she was. She had disappeared out of the ballroom, and in the past five minutes had not returned.

"Dusty doesn't work that way. I think after seeing – things – she realized that wasn't what she wanted. I meant control of her surroundings. Her room is very organized, and I've been to her workplace. Compared to mine, she's like the antiseptic queen." Sana said, envisioning her desk overflowing with papers and mugs, her secretary sighing in frustration. She smiled inwardly. Good times.

"Dusty has mentioned something about that once or twice. Mostly drawing a connection with my desk." He said, grimacing slightly, turning slightly, he then saw Rachel. "Rachel!" He said, beckoning her over. As she neared, he turned more in her direction, "Have you seen Dusty lately?" He asked.

"Yeah, she was headed upstairs, it was weird… it was almost as if something was wrong. It's hard to tell with her, though." Rachel said. Bruce's eyes widened.

"Um, will you excuse me?" He said, starting to pull away from the group.

"Bruce, there she is." Sana said, touching his arm gently, gesturing over to the doorway. Bruce turned just in time to see Dusty turn away. He wondered why she wasn't coming over. If it was the Watson thing, she knew that Watson had left, and there wasn't anything to worry about. However, if her absence had anything to do with anyone leaving or moving away…

"I'll be right back." He said, walking toward Dusty with a determined tone to his walk, who was peeking around the corner. As soon as she saw him coming, she turned around quickly. Wringing her wrists subconsciously, she waited until he had come to her, joining her behind the curtain. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"I –er." She stuttered. She took a deep breath, calming herself, "Bruce, I need to talk to you after the party." Bruce checked his watch. The party was only supposed to go on until midnight, and as it was eleven forty-five, people had been leaving for a good half an hour.

"Fine, I'll get people to leave." He said, his face automatically straightening into his business tone. She caught his arm as he turned to leave.

"No!" The word popped out, a pleading word, caught and set spinning by her fear that someone else would figure out something was wrong. He turned back, surprised at her tone. She pulled herself together again, "Bruce, don't let them think anything is wrong. Besides, after last year's fiasco, you don't really need another headline." She said, taking a deep breath, putting on her public smile and walking around him into the ballroom.

"I was on page eight!" He whispered loudly after her. She seemed to ignore him and walked up to Rachel and Sana, who had since been joined by James McTaverly. Currently Rachel was looking like an uncomfortable third wheel while Sana looked completely entranced by James as he struggled to keep his attention on both of them. Rachel smiled as she saw Dusty approach.

"It looks like Sana has found someone to talk to." Dusty said as she and Rachel walked across the emptying ballroom to the punch bowl.

"It certainly does. They've already got a date lined up for next weekend. Guess where he's taking her." Rachel said, sipping a bit of the sparkling punch. Dusty didn't touch it, knowing that more than one person had been here that would not hesitate in taking her down, and making look like an accident. And with drinks, especially at a party like this, it wasn't hard. Actually, having it actually be an accident was hard. As she was allergic to alcohol, she had to be careful about quite a few things in the glitzy life of a socialite.

"I'm guessing some place gourmet, five-star and expensive." Dusty said, with a hint of irony. Rachel laughed.

"Le Plaisir de Coeur in The Meadows." She said in a conspiratorial tone. Dusty's eyebrows rose, turning toward the couple, quite impressed.

"Evidently, Mr. McTaverly is no longer a poor pianist-for-hire." She said, looking over at her old friends, still engaged in conversation. Rachel finished her punch.

"Well, I have to run, Dusty. Good luck on your birthday present!" She said. Dusty smiled.

"Did I hear 'birthday present'?" Bruce asked, sneaking up behind Dusty and putting his arms around her. Rachel smiled, and nodded.

"I need to leave now, though. I have to work tomorrow, and generally that means one has to get up early." Dusty and Bruce smiled and nodded. Rick had gone to bed around ten, and the only ones left at the party were the ones who either didn't work due to retirement, or the ones who were rich enough they didn't have to come in at the regular work time. Or they didn't have to work at all.

Bruce released Dusty so he could give Rachel a hug goodbye before she left. Dusty smiled. Bruce may be tough, but for all of it, or maybe even because of it, he had a heart that belonged solely to his friends.

She blocked out the wishful thought that tried to come into her head next, keeping her smile squarely on her face. Turning around she watched Sana and James. He kissed her hand as he left, and Dusty rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Sana followed him over to them and briefly said happy birthday to Bruce. Then, taking her arm in his, James escorted her outside. One by one the few remaining guests left, and Dusty and Bruce were left in the ballroom alone.

After the last guest had left, Bruce turned to her and said, "Which do you want to do first, open the presents, or tell me… whatever it is you want to tell me?" He said.

She thought for a moment. "Let's open presents first." _It'll take less time._ She mused miserably. With that, Bruce walked over to the pile of presents neatly stacked into the corner, nearly tore off his bowtie, and then picked up the first present. Dusty walked over to where he stood, and watched him as he ripped open the wrapping paper with all the patience of a two year old awaiting a new toy.

It was a tie. Well, actually it was many ties, each in a different color. "Ties." Bruce remarked; his voice was matter-of-fact. Dusty smiled. She patted his arm.

"Don't hold it against them." She said, "Take it from me, billionaires, and you in particular, are impossible to buy for." He smiled at her, and briefly put his hand over hers before putting the box down and picking up another small one. Quickly, and with enviable reflexes, she took the box away from him. "Not yet. Save this one until last." She said. "This one's mine."

His face turned into a pout. "Just a peek?" He asked. She shook her head, smiling. "Please?" He continued. She hit his arm.

"No, and if you don't stop right now, I'll make you wait until tomorrow." She said firmly. Putting on a falsely morose expression, he continued to mock-pout.

"Fine." He said, before smiling. "You'd better not have gotten me a bag of candy." He teased.

"If I have, I'll eat it for you." Dusty promised. Without further ado, Bruce dove into the task of unwrapping the rest of his presents. Some were actually thoughtful, such as Rachel's – a picture of Bruce, Dusty and Rick that Rachel had taken – and Sana's was quite humorous. Staring in consternation at it, Bruce was speechless for a moment.

"What _is_ it?" He asked. Dusty peeked in the box, and promptly took it away from him.

"Ah. That would be a very large box of blackmail material for you." She said. As she said this, he took the box back.

"About whom?" He asked. Looking at the steadily reddening Dusty, he looked into the box, "You?" He asked. Firmly, she took the box back.

"Dusty, that's my birthday present." He reminded her. She froze, having tried to walk away with it. She turned around.

"The deal was for Sana to give it to whoever I was marrying. Since I'm technically _not_ marrying you, you don't get to have it – even if it _is_ your birthday present." She said peevishly, ignoring her earlier promises, and the fact that she was, in fact, legally marrying him, wondering if this evening could get even worse. Bruce paused.

"I will make a compromise, because I'm interested, and I have a habit of snooping when I'm interested, if you give me the least libelous piece of blackmail material, I will not require the rest." He said, smiling pleasantly. She put on a pleasant but distinctly sarcastic smile.

"Fine." She said, sitting down on the stairs and shuffling through the box. Pretending not to notice her faintly red cheeks, Bruce kept dutifully unwrapping presents. After about twenty presents, Dusty sat down beside him with an envelope in her hand. He looked at it.

"Is that it?" He asked, reaching out to take it. She pulled it out of reach right before he took it out of her hand.

"Yes. However, if I see this on T.V, in the newspaper or in any sort of tabloid, _your_ neck will be first in line, whether or not it's actually your fault." She said. He put on a very phony sad face.

"You mean I have to keep this secret all to myself?" He asked remorsefully. She gave him a Look.

"You'd better." She said, sounding distinctly annoyed. Eagerly, he ripped the envelope open. After glancing down the paper, he looked almost confused.

"You failed kindergarten?" He asked. Dusty turned a light shade of pink and looked away.

"I just spent about twenty-three years trying to forget about it, and it all comes back in one night. What a day." She said. Bruce smiled and put his arm around her.

"Don't worry about it. It says here you'd just turned four. I think that's fine for anyone. If you were, say, seven it would've been a different story." He said. She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder, still slightly rankled, but more willing to look past it.

"Thanks." She said. He went on opening presents, until at last the only one left was Dusty's. She held it out to him. Eagerly, he opened the box. Inside the box was a note. _Go to the kitchen_. Underneath was a refrigerator magnet. He rolled his eyes at Dusty, who simply smiled at him. She pulled him to his feet. Laughing, he groaned theatrically.

"I cannot believe that you are making me do this." He said with a fake sigh as he pulled her to the kitchen. There was a note on the fridge. _Go to your room, _it said. On the note was taped a sock. "Dusty!" Bruce said, but Dusty had already kicked off her pumps and was running across the entryway. He ran after her, thinking of all the things that he would do to her if it were something like a bag of candy, or anything smaller than a red wagon.

Once he got up to his room, Dusty was sitting on his bed, wearing a note on her sleeve, and looking as innocent as could be. Looking at her, trying not to smile, he took the note off and read it. _Follow me_, it said. He gave her a calculating look. Holding out a black piece of cloth, which was obviously a blindfold, she smiled innocently.

"You are not going to make me wear it." She smiled impishly.

"Am I not?" She said, "Oh well, then. I'll enjoy your present." He sighed, and took the blindfold.

"This really isn't fair."

"You should have thought of that before you made me tell one of my embarrassing secrets."

_Note to self: Never annoy her after midnight._ Grudgingly, he put the blindfold over his eyes. She'd chosen well, the material didn't let any light in, and he almost jumped when Dusty took his arm. She hadn't made any noise.

"Can you see anything?" She asked.

"Um, if I fall over anything, can you make sure that I don't die, please?" He asked, almost pleading. He could almost feel her smile.

"I'll do the best I can." She said, pulling him forward. He could tell they left the bedroom, but after that it was a little fuzzy. Finally after navigating up and down stairs and seemingly around in circles, Dusty brought him to a stop.

"Mind if I ask where we are? I presume we're in the same country…" He trailed off. She laughed.

"Hold out your hand." She said. He held it out obediently. She put something small and key shaped in his palm.

"Can I take the blindfold off?" He asked. She opened a door.

"Sure." She said. He pulled the blindfold down around his neck. They were at a small trailer in the garage. The back door was open. Inside was a beautiful black motorcycle.

"Dusty, you sneaky little…" He said, then grabbed her around the waist, "Come here!" She laughed, playfully pulling away. Smiling he gave her a huge hug, and giving her a soft kiss on her forehead. "I'm presuming that you didn't go to the interview this morning?" He asked, putting his cheek on the top of her head. She laughed and conceded that she hadn't. Then she grew quiet, leaning her head against Bruce's shoulder. They remained like that for a minute before Dusty stirred.

"Well, I need to get up early, and unlike you, I'm not really used to no sleep. Good luck on Batman." She said, walking toward the garage door. He nodded and waved.

"Goodnight, Dusty."

"Night, Bruce."

Walking away, she took a deep breath, knowing that she had at least distracted Bruce long enough to get to bed without his bothering her about what she was going to –

"Wait, Dusty!" _Drat_. She turned around, keeping a pleasant smile on her face, although her stomach was curdling worse than old sour milk. Having torn himself away from his new motorcycle, ran to catch up to her.

"You were going to tell me something?" He asked. She looked absently over his shoulder trying to think up an excuse. Luckily it came to her before he finished talking.

"Oh, well, it's ok…It'll take a while, and I'll be able to take it better if I take a rest before we talk about it." She said, rubbing her forehead. He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Why wouldn't you be able to take it?" He asked. She looked away into the distant wall behind Bruce's shoulder, trying to avoid answering.

"Dusty?" As if choreographed he stepped forward and she stepped back, turning, she grabbed fistfuls of her skirt and ran for the stairs. She could hear him following, but she wasn't in her shoes and sped up to a breakneck speed. Dusty vaulted up the stairs, skidding around corners until she was on the home stretch. She was nearly to her door when she was taken down by something tall, dark and heavy. Immediately she started fighting furiously to get away, until she pulled back enough to see that it was Bruce.

"Let go of me!" She shouted. "What are you, insane?!" Rather than responding, Bruce firmly grabbed her arms and pulled her to feet, pushing her into a wall. She tried to throw him off, but he leaned onto his grip, by some miracle managing to contain her.

"Why are you running?" He asked, his breathing cropped and short from exertion. She wouldn't look into his eyes, trying to find something else to lock her attention onto, even though he was less than two feet away from her. Finally, she couldn't deny it any longer.

"You. I've already lived through this twice tonight…can't see why it won't leave me alone…" She said, completely out of breath due to her struggle and Bruce's weight against her. Bruce slightly moved away.

"What won't leave you alone?" he asked. She breathed deeply before looking into his face and answering.

"Watson." She said, looking away. Carefully, Bruce moved away from her and pulled her gently away from the wall. She turned away, sighing deeply.

"You'll never be able to deal with it if you keep on running away." He said, touching her back with his palm. "Tell you what, let's get ready for bed, and we can have a hot chocolate and pajama party while we divulge our worst secrets." He put his arms around her.

"You think I'm going to let you off that easy for sitting on me?" She said. He thought for a moment, threw caution to the wind and answered.

"Yes."

She laughed softly, unwillingly, "Oh, fine. But only because I promised I would tell you before you jumped on me." He kept holding her for a moment more, and then let her go. Opening the door to her room, she walked through, and closed the door firmly behind her. Bruce looked at the door in consternation, not knowing what to think of the woman who had just walked through the door. She just seemed to defy all realms of rational thought, and the fact that it was past midnight just made it even weirder.

Then he turned and went to his room.

* * *

Close to a half an hour later after he had changed into his lazy-day clothes (he really wasn't going to bed for another five hours or so), there was a soft knock on his door. He opened the door to a pajama-clad Dusty, with a red fleece blanket pulled tightly around her, and her hair in a loose ponytail. From the look on her face, she was uncomfortable to be there. Grabbing his housecoat, he ushered Dusty out of the room.

"Where are we going?" She asked. He grabbed her hand, and led her down the hallway.

"You'll see." He said. Soon enough they found their way into the small entertainment room. No one spoke at first. Dusty had curled up beside Bruce as he had stretched out on the couch with her head on his shoulder. Then, gradually, she began to talk. By the time she was done, her voice was so quiet that Bruce could only hear her because he was six inches away.

"I was going to leave." She whispered into his shoulder. He pulled her closer.

"I'm glad you didn't." He said, "I'm sure Rick would have missed you." Dusty looked up at him.

"Would you have missed me?" Immediately she berated herself inwardly. What kind of a silly question was that? Then he looked down at her.

"Yes, I would." She sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder. After a few more moments Bruce looked down. Dusty was fast asleep against his shoulder. Carefully he moved around her, picked her up and carried her down the hall. He entered her room quietly, and gently put her down on the bed.

"Goodnight, Dusty." He whispered, kissing her softly on the cheek. Then, after he had covered her with a blanket, he walked out of the room and closed the door.

* * *

Well. This was also originally two chapters, put together to keep the action moving.

Thanks to motherduckatschool and Bryt for reviewing, and extra thanks to Bryt for editing it even though she's had a downright horrible week (at least from what I've heard. : - ( I hope you feel better, Bryt)

Thanks to all who added me to the Story Alert, etc.

Please Review!

~Sabre


	28. Chapter TwentySeven: The Cost of Freedom

Here's Chapter 27...

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven

September 4th

"Come on, Dorothy! You can do it!" Dusty yelled from third base. The now twenty-eight year old woman peered from under her baseball hat. Six weeks. Six short weeks until she got married. She looked at Bruce on the pitcher's mound. It had been his idea to spend her birthday with the children from four of Gotham's foster homes, and so far it had been absolutely marvelous.

At first it had seemed rather dangerous to place herself in the society of children, simply because if Watson chose to attack now, she would most likely be found guilty. Or at least found out to be something. And, presuming it was another warning, she wasn't sure if she could live with the guilt of setting children in the scope of madmen who had no qualms about killing. But then she'd calmed herself down, doused the paranoia that seemed to be more active these days, and got out of the car.

Dorothy swung and hit the ball, her blonde braid whipping out behind her as she streaked to first base as Dusty ran to home. Dorothy got to first a whole three seconds before the ball reached the first base's catcher's mitt. Dusty slowed down and joined the batter's line, pulling her hat down closer over her forehead, blocking the mid-day sun from blinding her.

This was the last inning of the day. No one was quite sure of the score, as they weren't playing to win, but the tension was thick in the air through sheer competitiveness of the young boys and girls. Another younger girl, older than Dorothy, but still under ten stepped up to bat. This was Melissa. Dusty cheered her on just the same. Suddenly an outcry came from the outfield. Amazingly, Dorothy had stolen second base without being caught, and had also succeeded in getting Jenny, a shy brunette girl with a loose tooth to run to third base. Dusty laughed and cheered for her spunky teammate. Melissa swung and hit the ball with a resounding crack. A definite homerun. Jenny made it first, almost overtaken by Dorothy, while Melissa carefully walked around the bases with the aid of her crutches. As she reached third base, though, she started moving faster and faster. Everyone started cheering her on, as she started to pick up speed. As she came up to home base, Dusty ran up to meet her, swinging her around.

As the children crowded around her she gave high-fives hugs to as many as she could. It was very interesting to her to realize how at home she felt with all of these children. As even more children crowded around, she stood up and shouted, "Let's go have lunch!" Cheering, the young children ran for the picnic tables where some of their guardians were with platters upon platters of Subway sandwiches. Dusty and Bruce (who had just come in from the pitcher's mound) picked up their sandwiches and sat by a few of the children. Dorothy had grabbed her sandwich and run over to Dusty, squeezing into an impossibly small space between her and a boy named Ryder. Smiling at the upset look Ryder gave Dorothy, Dusty picked up Dorothy and moved her to her other side between her and Bruce.

"You know what Dusty?" She asked, bouncing up and down. "You know what?" Dusty smiled and looked down at the small blonde child.

"What?" She asked.

"You look exactly like my mommy. Except your eyes. My mommy's eyes were like mine. See?" Dorothy widened her blue eyes. Dusty smiled

"I see. Your mommy must have been a very pretty lady. Especially with her blue eyes." She said. The meal went along like that, with the children telling Dusty and Bruce things, and both of them trying to stay upright under the barrage of questions from twenty different children.

After the lunch they went to Toys 'R' Us and had each child pick up a stuffed animal. Then they went to the library and into a special wing there that Bruce had built specifically for the foster children in Gotham. As they walked in, the children ran everywhere, looking at the new surroundings. Dusty smiled up at Bruce as they watched the children run around, with their guardians reminding them gently to behave.

Suddenly there was a rumbling outside of the windows. Dusty only saw a glimpse of a large car before the windows exploded inward. Gunfire spurted everywhere. Dusty grabbed the two nearest children, a pair of young boys named Jason and Logan and sent them running for cover, before running under cover herself. Within a few seconds the gunfire stopped, and with the screeching of tires she knew that the intruders were gone. Stepping behind the strafed sofa, she called to Bruce as she looked around.

"Bruce, you and the guardians, get the kids out of here. I'm going to take a look around. Do a headcount as they leave." He nodded as he stood. Dusty gingerly stepped around the splintered chairs. The children, shell-shocked and scared, exited quietly and without much fuss. Within a few moments, they were in one of the inner halls, where they were safe. After a moment of scouring the room alone, Bruce came back.

"Dusty, Dorothy's missing." He said urgently. Dusty's head whipped around. She looked frantically around, starting to lift up furniture that had fallen.

"Dorothy? Dorothy?" Somehow then, impossibly, in the eerie silence following her calls, she heard a small whimper. Turning in that direction, she immediately ascertained where the small six-year-old child lay. "Dorothy!" She bolted toward that side of the room. Bruce moved to follow her.

"No, Bruce! Go take care of the other kids. Call Alfred and an ambulance!" She said, taking the edge of a fallen and splintered bookcase. In one gigantic heave, she moved the bookcase. Beneath, the battered and broken body of the small child lay. Gently, carefully, she moved the red-stained blonde hair from the little girl's face.

"Dorothy? Dorothy, honey? We're going to get you out, ok? You'll be fine. I promise. Breathe. Just breathe." Dorothy coughed hoarsely, a bubbling liquid gurgling in the back of her throat. Dusty noticed the bullet holes now, Dorothy's dark shirt concealing the dark stain that was spreading steadily across her chest.

Slowly, painfully, Dorothy opened her eyes. Looking at Dusty with dulling awareness, she opened her mouth and in a very small voice spoke. "Mommy?" With that, the little girl shut her eyes, and with one last painful sigh she blew out of this life, leaving behind an empty shell. Dusty started shaking.

"No, no, Dorothy, come back! Dorothy, _come back_!" She screamed, "Charity, make her come back, don't let me go through this again!" Picking up the lifeless child and rocking her back and forth, she sobbed relentlessly, not caring that the blood from Dorothy's wounds covered her hands and stained her light shirt beyond repair. She stayed like that – hunched over the murdered child, a child she was not only responsible for in life, but in death as well – well past the time the paramedics came to administer to the children. None of them were allowed to come back into the room as they tried to separate Dusty from Dorothy, but to no avail.

Then Bruce and Alfred's soothing voices cut through the piercing agony that was tearing a path through Dusty's heart that kept her arms locked around the small child. They convinced her to let Dorothy's body go, that it would be taken care of. Numbly, Dusty stood, handing the light child to one of the paramedics as if she were a delicate doll. As soon as she broke contact with the child, she collapsed, overcome with heartbreak. Someone – most likely Bruce – caught her, letting her bury her face in his shoulder as she clutched at his shirt and tried to sob the pain away.

Slowly, almost comfortingly, a welcome blackness spread over her mind.

* * *

Dusty woke in the hospital from soft whispers as someone left the room. The white was almost blinding from the warm darkness that had spread over her. She looked at the clock. It was almost four-thirty in the afternoon. Had it only been two hours?

Two hours since what? She racked her memory. Panic rose in her chest. She'd forgotten. Memories of Charity bubbled to the surface, and then another small girl, with blonde curls that shone in the sunshine.

Dorothy. Dusty opened her eyes, willing herself not to cry. She looked down, and saw she was in a light blue hospital gown, and her hands were cleansed of the young orphan's blood.

"Dusty?" She looked up. Rick stood before her, looking ages older than his eleven years. She was glad he'd left the group before they'd gone to the library. She raised her arm a few inches and he came forward, carefully putting his arms around her. It felt so good to be held. The young boy held his older sister as she just rested in his embrace, too emotionally drained to do anything. Rick pulled back slightly. "I need to go tell Bruce that you're awake. He's been awake ever since you were admitted yesterday. The doctors are threatening to put him on medication as well." He moved away. She grabbed his wrist.

"Rick, don't leave me, _please_." She pleaded. He touched his sister's hand.

"I'll be right back, Dusty. He's just around the corner in the lounge. I'll send Alfred in." Dusty sighed and nodded, trying not to feel abandoned. As he walked out, the stately butler walked in.

"Hi, Alfred." She said, trying to keep her composure. It was too many people, and yet at the same time not nearly enough. He touched her forehead with a cool palm.

"Hello, Miss Grayson. You seem to be a little warm. Do you feel all right?" He asked. She nodded noncommittally. Suddenly Bruce burst into the room, looking all the world like he'd fought off several man-eating lions (or maybe they were just doctors). As he saw she was awake he walked forward, enfolding her gently but firmly in his arms.

"Thank goodness you're okay." He said into her hair. She just leaned against him, holding out her hand for Rick. He held onto her tightly before she drew him in close. Bruce stroked her hair, and for a while no one spoke.

"Dorothy's funeral is going to be held in two days." He said softly. Dusty nodded, her eyes closed, just taking in the presence of another person. Her heart ached with the memory of Dorothy, and then with that other special little girl.

"Was anyone else hurt?" She whispered, her throat dry, coughing a little, but still not opening her eyes. Bruce spoke gently.

"One teacher had a gunshot wound to her upper arm, and another to her thigh, but they're fine, and so are the rest of the children. A few bumps and scrapes here and there, but they're all fine." Dusty breathed in deeply.

"It's my fault." She said. "It just is. I saw someone outside the window a split second before they shot. He waved at me." Bruce winced. He hugged her tighter.

"The doctor says you can come home if you want to. Alfred brought some clothes for you." She nodded. After she did so, a nurse came forward and unhooked the IV, taping a cotton bandage on, and then assisting her to the bathroom to get changed.

The feelings that were edging up her throat made her feel woozy inside. It took her a while to get completely changed, and after she was, she was led back to her bed, where the doctor came in to see her.

"Well, Miss Grayson, I hear you've been under some trauma recently. Given your history of depression, I will prescribe some medication for you. Should you take it or not, it's up to you, but at least for a short time, I would recommend it." She nodded, and listened after he gave her a few other instructions, if in case she had heart trouble. The night before her heart had almost given out for reasons unknown before starting again, running normally, as if nothing had happened. Nevertheless, the doctor took her vital signs one last time, pronounced her fit and ready to leave. They carefully put her in a wheelchair and started to wheel her out to the door.

By the time they were out the doors of the hospital, Dusty was slumping in her seat, utterly exhausted. Bruce put his hand on the front of her shoulder to help her sit up. Alfred had gone ahead to get the car, and thus she was soon safely loaded into the Rolls Royce, bundled up between Bruce and Rick. Dusty sat, her head leaned on Bruce's shoulder, trying to work out all the thoughts that were buzzing around her head.

Painful images whirled inside of her head, images of Charity, Dorothy, her parents, and the destruction that had been caused because of her stubborn pride and fear. As she thought about these things, a slow anger percolated in her chest. But now it was an anger at only herself. By the time they got home, she felt almost normal. She still allowed Bruce to help her out of the car, but she flatly refused when Alfred asked if he could fill her prescription once they had reached her room.

"Dusty, I will not have saved you from heart failure last night to lose you to depression today." Bruce said. Turning, her eyes crackling with an unidentifiable fire, she spoke in a voice that was a direct contrast to her physique.

"You won't. It's time to stop running, Bruce. I'm tired, and it doesn't do any good anyway. I told Selina Kyle – yes, she's a member of the League, Bruce – that it wasn't any of my concern what happened to Gotham. I was wrong, and I'm here to do the job." She looked directly at Bruce, "And if you won't let me help, I will do it myself. I refuse to let the blood of an innocent child go unpaid for. What happens to Gotham is on my shoulders now, and I'm ready for it."

Bruce stepped closer, "Dusty, you can barely stand." He said.

She stood. "That is called shock, and it wears off. I told you, Bruce. If you won't let me help, I will do it myself, and I can guarantee I will not be safe."

"On purpose?" He asked.

"I failed tactics." She said succinctly. Pain flashed through her eyes. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a funeral to plan, and several thousand stuffed animals to buy." She said, her bottom lip quivering and she marched past the two men.

* * *

Two days later the day dawned a clear but cool day. In the hours before the funeral, Dusty went alone to the cemetery where her parents were buried. Sitting at the foot of their graves, she just started to talk. She talked about her fears, about the regret she felt over forgetting Charity, and her hope that she would do better with Richard.

"Momma…" She trailed off. "I miss you. Daddy, you too. I want you to know, that I'm going after Watson. And I promise you that I will not stop until either I am dead or he is locked away for good." After she finished, she stood and walked a short distance away to another well-kept grave. On the worn marble, twenty-four years old, there was an inscription: 'Charity Grayson, daughter of Elizabeth and Dwayne Grayson. Charity never faileth.' Dusty sighed, and ran her hand over her sister's headstone. Her sister had died when Dusty was four, and her sister was only two. She didn't remember her at all, except from pictures, and this fact pained her immensely.

Calmly, she ran her hand over the weather-beaten marble. "I miss you too, Charity."

* * *

Dorothy Mendelssohn's funeral wasn't very large or extravagant, but there was a spirit there that none could deny. The small girl was buried beside her parents, with a small stuffed animal tucked under her arm. Her black walnut casket was lowered into the ground, witnessed by her guardian, Marissa, who still leaned on her crutch, Dusty and Bruce. Dusty felt tears run down her face, but she felt oddly detached from the whole setting. She was done mourning. She couldn't explain it, but her heart ached not from regret or fresh pain but from the burden of responsibility.

Later they left the graveyard, Dusty sighing and maneuvering her black skirt around so she could climb into the car. She thought of the little girl that had been alive but three days ago. Thinking of Watson, and the things she'd done to put him in this position, she leaned her head back against the car seat.

Watson and Dusty. Dusty and Watson.

How they both had so much to answer for.

* * *

Aaaand that's the end of part one.

Part Two will still be under this title, but I'll update it next on the 10th of April. While my ego says it's to build suspense, it's also because I'm going on vacation, and it's sometimes hard to keep track of time and upload on schedule.

I'm so grateful for all of you who've stuck it out, and been with me from the beginning. Thanks especially to motherduckatschool, KenzyLenzy (aka PATDfan2012), Bryt, and suchicken. You guys have made my life wonderful.

Also, thanks big time to Bryt for editing this chapter, even though I got it to her in the 11th hour...

Also, thanks for J.B. Wolfe for editing off and on whenever they have the time. You and Bryt make my life so much better.

Well, what can I say, other than thank you for your reading, and I'll see you next in Part Two!

Please Review!

~Sabre


	29. Part Two: Chapter TwentyEight: Peril?

I have to say I'm almost too ashamed to come back right now. Almost.

Anyway, please read and enjoy! We're onto part two!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight

October 22nd

Six weeks flashed by. Between work, Batman activities, extra training, and wedding plans, Dusty felt absolutely swamped. Granted, most of the things she did were her choice, but each was necessary in it's own way. Finally Dusty's last full day of single-hood dawned. She lay in bed for a full thirty minutes, relishing the sensation of doing nothing, knowing that in the next few hours, last minute preparations were going to hit the fan.

She had chosen her bridesmaids. There was Sana, her maid of honor, Rachel, and two other girls that had randomly popped up out of nowhere that Dusty had decided were suitable for the job. One was Clementine Daveridge, most aptly described by Sana as 'the cheesecake of the world' She was platinum blonde, a supermodel, and fit all the clichés generally associated thereof. Isabelle Carson was much more quiet and withdrawn than Clementine, especially for someone with the same vocation, and even more especially for someone who looked almost identical to someone like Clementine.

Her last bridesmaid was Selina Kyle. Bruce had almost choked on his dinner when she had told him of her decision, before Dusty calmly explained that she would rather have a member of the League actually invited to the wedding, rather than them trying to sneak in. As with before, any attack specifically on her would be suspicious, and put the secrecy of the League in jeopardy. Whether or not that was actually a factor in things anymore, it wasn't certain, and prompted Bruce to hire a veritable riot force for protection, and order several different honeymoon packages to throw them off.

However, on other wedding matters, the bridal shower, however late, was going to be held that day. As to such things, Dusty hadn't felt that the dreaded thing actually was important, considering that half the _questionable_ items would be stuffed in a closet. The other half would probably be burned. Grudgingly, she got out of bed and started to do her morning exercises. Afterwards, she took an extra-long hot shower, during which she tried to wash away all of the frustration of the past six weeks. Even though Bruce had been letting her in on more of the Batman activities, he'd had yet to let her go out at night with him. Luckily she'd been able to beat on him a few times in the training sessions that he'd given her.

She dried off and dressed quickly, twisting her hair up in a towel turban. Then, walking into her room, she laid back down on her bed, trying not to feel put-upon. It was all her choice, she knew, but she'd come too far to back out now. There was a soft knock on the door. Praying it wasn't Bruce, she told the mystery person beyond the door to enter.

Alfred walked in. "I thought you might like a breakfast in bed today, miss." He said. She sighed, nodding and sitting up in bed. He put the breakfast of sausages, hash browns and an apple pancake, one of her favorite breakfasts, down in front of her.

"Thank you, Alfred." He studied her for a moment.

"Miss Grayson, I can see that as a somewhat unwilling bride, and on top of that a somewhat unwilling bride to both Bruce Wayne and Batman, you aren't quite as calm as I think you would wish to be. Is there anything that I can make or arrange to calm your nerves so you won't dispatch Master Wayne at the altar tomorrow morning?"

Dusty sighed, putting her fork down after taking a bite. "Do you think you could make Angel Food Cake, and arrange for me to shoot someone?" She said. Alfred smiled.

"Your cake will be ready in approximately two hours, but I'm afraid you'll have to content yourself with throwing darts or some other threatening apparatus at a target. However, I can produce a picture of your bridegroom, if you wish." Dusty smiled, and shoveled another bite of breakfast into her mouth.

"No, that won't be necessary. I'm not that mad at him. We haven't sparred for a while anyway… You know, not getting bruises before the wedding and all that…" She trailed off, twirling a piece of sausage around in her syrup. She must have been quiet for a while, because Alfred spoke.

"A penny for your thoughts, Miss?" She looked up and at Alfred.

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the wedding. Half of me wants to run and hide somewhere resembling the boonies of Russia, and the other half of me can't wait until tomorrow." Stabbing the sausage with more viciousness than what was probably needed, she crammed it into her mouth, and chewed furiously. Now she'd really put her foot in it.

"I gather you're not completely opposed to the wedding, then?" he asked. She sighed.

"What women in her right mind _wouldn't_ want to marry Bruce Wayne, knowing what I know?" She asked, half emphatically, half defensively. He smiled.

"What woman indeed?" He asked. Then, standing, he excused himself. Dusty looked down at her food. When she was younger, she could always rely on one person when she needed a friend to talk to, especially when Sana wasn't around. After she finished her breakfast, she pulled out her cell phone, scrolling through an almost disgusting amount of amassed numbers she'd gathered since her arrival back in Gotham. Finally, she reached the one she wanted, pressing the 'call' button. Holding it to her ear, she heard it ring twice before the person at the other end picked up.

"This is Gordon." Biting her lip, she almost didn't say anything. She'd talked to him before at certain functions, and even had a luncheon with him when he'd had a day off, but they'd never been able to talk like they had before she'd left. Would he even want to after this long?

"Jim? This is Dusty Grayson. Hey, what are you doing for lunch today?" She asked, biting her lip in anticipation. There was a pause.

"I'm not doing anything for lunch. How about you and I go hit a pizza place?" he asked. She smiled. The only 'pizza place' he would refer to was called Caesar's and most often they would take out, and eat in the park nearby. She smiled.

"Sounds great. I'll meet you at the police station at around twelve, okay?" She said. She could almost hear him smile.

"You could come around eleven thirty and hang out around here for a while. My files need organizing." She laughed.

"I thought I told you it was a one time thing. In fact, I think I tell you that every time I clean out your file cabinet. How do you get me to do it all the time?" She asked.

"I bribe you with lunch, I think." He said. "So eleven thirty? I'll throw in a smoothie from Jamba Juice." She groaned theatrically.

"Oh fine. There had better not be any mice in there this time. I have a wedding tomorrow, and if I die, I'll haunt you until you clean out your _own_ desk." She said. Suddenly there was very awkward silence.

"Dusty, about the wedding – " She cut him off.

"Jim, I need to talk to you about it later anyway. I promise you'll hear everything." She said. "Well, you probably have some very important case you're working on. I'll see you at eleven thirty."

"Eleven thirty. See you then, Dusty." He said. She responded in kind, and hung up. Lying back on her bed, carefully avoiding her tray, she looked at the clock. It was almost ten. She would have to leave in a half an hour if she was going to get downtown in time for her lunch with Jim. Sitting up, she sighed, and went into the bathroom for her hairbrush. After making sure her hair was sufficiently dried, she ran the brush through her hair, before quickly braiding her hair in a waist long rope.

As she picked up her jacket and put on her socks and shoes, she remembered to grab a few documents to slip in the police mail for Bruce, and also wrote a note to Bruce telling where she'd gone and when she'd most likely be back. Then she grabbed the keys to her car, and headed out to the garage. She climbed into her car, and sighed, wishing Rick wasn't at school. It wasn't anything new, but she still missed him terribly until he came back each day. Then, shutting the door to her Mazda, she drove out of the large garage and tore down the road toward Gotham. As she drove down the highway toward the city, she turned on the radio, and set it on low volume. It was uncanny, but the radio seemed to be able to tell what mood she was in, and seemed to soothe her better than anything.

Since today she followed the speed limit, she made it into the Gotham City limits around fifteen minutes later. Turning onto the appropriate street, she found it curiously empty. Well, maybe not empty, but curiously few cars were around. Pulling out her phone, she speed-dialed Alfred.

"Yes, Miss Grayson?" He asked. She was confused for a moment, considering it was the house phone she'd called and then remembered that they'd installed caller ID a few days before.

"Alfred, is today a holiday or something that I'm not aware of?" She said, "Old Cannon Road is almost completely empty." There was a moment's pause.

"I believe it would most likely be the time. It is almost eleven thirty, you know." He said.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Alfred." She said.

"Always at your service, Miss. Is there anything else I may help you with?" He asked, perfectly politely.

"No, that's pretty much it." She said, switching lanes to be closer to the turn-off.

"In that case, might I ask when you'll be home? I presume I don't have to remind you that you have an outing with your bridesmaids at three." Dusty blew out in exasperation, but then spoke in a calm tone.

"No, I know. I'll be home around two or two thirty. Well, I'll see you when I get back." She said.

"Good-bye, Miss Grayson." He said, and Dusty closed her phone with a snap. Switching another two lanes, she turned into a side street that would lead her to the police station. She looked at the clock. She had a little over ten minutes to get there. Taking her time, she drove leisurely into the police parking lot a little earlier than her appointed time. Nevertheless, Jim was waiting for her at the check-in desk. After she was checked in, she gave him a hug.

"I missed you." She told him, as she walked down the hallway beside him. "I'm sorry I seemed so distant at last month's luncheon. I had a lot on my mind." Gordon turned his head slightly and surveyed his young friend. She carried herself differently from when he first met her as a young teenager. A transformation from the intelligent but insecure girl of thirteen to... something else. There was something else. Something that reminded him very much of a veteran police officer, but it seemed to go beyond that. Something had happened over the past few years.

He shook it off. Today was to realign the past and the present with Dusty, and he wasn't going to let any misconceptions get in the way.

Once they reached his office, Dusty took one look at his filing cabinet and winced. "I swear, that's worse than Bruce's desk." She said gingerly walking over and picking up what was probably a month-old Styrofoam cup. Holding it at arm's length, she walked over, all the while shuddering dramatically, and threw the cup away. Gordon laughed at her theatrics and set her to work. Ordinarily he would do it himself, but he knew that it was one of her well-hidden hobbies, and if he knew Dusty like before, She would enjoy every single minute of it, even if she was complaining.

In the meantime, though, the two struck up a friendly conversation, much reminiscent of the times before Dusty left. As he thought this, he gave Dusty another searching look. As she took a handful of files out of the cabinet, she caught his gaze.

"What?" She asked. He shook his head.

"I'm just wondering why you left, that's all." He paused. "Gotham just wasn't the same without you." She sighed, and leaned on the filing cabinet, resting her head on her hand.

"It was a mistake, I realize that now. I just…felt I couldn't stay. At any rate, the consequences weren't all bad." Gordon looked up at her questioningly. She shrugged, and got back to work. "I mean, I got to go abroad, finish my education, build as many custom sports cars as I felt I ever needed to, and…work out the grief that I wouldn't have been able to otherwise." She said, taking Gordon's flashlight and shining it cautiously into the drawer. Breathing a sigh in relief at the sight of only a few dust bunnies, she set it down and took the paper towels and cleaner she had brought with her from the janitorial closet.

"But what about Rick? How did he take it?" He asked. She closed her eyes briefly.

"He thought I was dead. Not surprising, but still, it was one of the things that convinced me that it was a mistake."

"You didn't realize it while you were gone?" Dusty looked up over the filing cabinet out the nearby window.

"I chose not to, I think. I'm not sure. Sometimes I feel like I had an out-of-body experience for eight years…" She said, putting the files back in the cabinet and looking into the next drawer. Gordon sighed and stood.

"Then why did you leave?" He asked. She turned to him, her eyes worried, and curiously conflicted.

"I - " She stuttered for a moment. Then she quieted. "I don't know. Well, I don't know what I can say that doesn't connect into other people's secrets…" She smiled, and looked at the clock. "Well, it's twelve. Do you want to hop out to eat now?"

Gordon looked at the clock, acknowledged the time for himself, and grabbed his jacket to protect him against the cool late October air. "You can hop. I think I'll just walk for now." He said, handing Dusty her coat. She smiled and followed him out of the room, switching off the light as she went.

They picked up their pizza for take-out and went to eat in the park nearby. Since it was chilly outside and still early in the lunch hour, the park was relatively empty. They walked a short distance until they came to a spot that had a bench and was far enough off the well-beaten path that they wouldn't be interrupted for a while.

"So," Gordon started, taking a bite of his pizza. "What was it exactly that you needed to talk to me about on the day before your wedding?" He asked. At the mention of the next day's ceremony, she put down her pizza and sighed.

"I don't know if I want to get married." She said, putting her head in her hands and barely missed putting her elbow in her pizza. "I just feel so…insecure about doing it without my mother. She was always there for everything, and to do it without her…" She sighed, and picked up her Italian pie dejectedly, "I just don't know if I can do it." Gordon smiled, trying to keep it small enough that it wouldn't hurt the girl's feelings.

"Dusty," He put his arm around her shoulders, the very image of a father comforting a daughter, "I was exactly the same before my wedding. My father wasn't there. He never really was there at all, but once one gets past that, they're fine. I'll be there for you. So will Alfred, and Rick, and especially Bruce." He said. "Especially Bruce, because I'm sure he's going through the exact same thing as you."

Dusty looked forward, taking this in, the pain and confusion clear on her face. "I just don't know if what I'm doing is the right thing." She said, putting her pizza down without taking a bite of it.

"Believe it." She turned her head, and looked into his clear blue eyes, her expression grim.

"Believe what?" She asked. Her question was deeper than it's face value, and she felt Gordon knew it.

"Believe what you feel is the best thing. For what it's worth, all these years with Barbara have been the best of my life. But only you know the best thing. Believe in love, Dusty. It's out there, and you're right in the middle of it. I know it." He said. He looked down at their pieces of pizza, both having long since lost all warmth.

"What do you say to getting another piece of pizza?" He asked. Dusty laughed.

"Okay."

* * *

Dusty drove home, her heart lighter than it had been in a while. She looked at her clock. It was almost two. She had almost an hour before people started to show up. Selina had told her that she wouldn't be able to come – something to do with Watson – however, the other girls would be able to make it. Dusty pulled into the garage, turning off her engine before sitting in the driver's seat for a moment or two, just relaxing. Like it or not, it would probably be her last relaxing moment for the next week or so.

"Dusty?" Bruce's voice jolted her back into reality. She jerked her head around.

"What's wrong?" She asked, mentally running through all the things that could have gone wrong. He shook his head.

"Oh, nothing. It's just two thirty, and I haven't seen you yet. Alfred said you'd driven in a half an hour ago." Her eyebrows rose. She'd fallen asleep! Well, It wasn't completely unheard of. She'd had a brief bout of a narcoleptic-like condition when she'd first started training herself, and she had been getting a little less sleep than usual recently.

"Oh." She said, far too late. "I must have fallen asleep." She said, tucking the stray strands of her hair behind her ears. Bruce helped Dusty out of the car, taking in her rumpled T-shirt and jacket look.

"Lunch go okay?" He asked. She nodded, grabbing her purse before Bruce closed the door. "Feeling better?" He continued. She turned around.

"What gave you the impression I wasn't feeling good to begin with?" She asked. He shrugged.

"Alfred said that you were…discontented." He said. Dusty laughed at Bruce's over-sophisticated and under-stated adjective.

"I'll bet you're quoting him too. I'm fine. I just went and had a talk with - "

"Lieutenant Gordon." He said in unison with her. At her confused expression, he explained. "Your note said. I didn't know he was a friend of yours." He said, taking her arm and walking with her to the stairwell.

"Well, we lived next door to him when I was about eight. I didn't even know he existed until I accidentally ran into the wrong house when I scraped my knee. Instead of shooing me out of the house, he cleaned out my knee and put a bandage on it, and then sent me home. He's been one of my best friends ever since." Her eyes didn't fully reflect the smile on her face.

"But?" Bruce prompted. She sighed.

"But, some friendships are a little harder to renew after a while. Especially when you disappear for eight years." She opened the door to the house and walked inside. Once inside, she walked down the hallway to the kitchen. "Speaking of friendships, has Sana gotten here yet?" She asked.

Bruce leaned up against the counter. "Nope. The orange lady –"

"Clementine?" Dusty inserted.

" – yeah, her. She called and said she'd be a little bit late, but to start without her. Something about a long photo shoot." Dusty breathed a sigh of relief. Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Something wrong?" He asked.

She wiped her relieved expression off her face, and replaced it with a slightly guilty one. "Um…nothing of consequence. She's a little…over or underwhelming. I haven't decided yet. One minute you're amazed at how intrusive she can be, and then next you're kind of disappointed that she can't do anything worthwhile with her rather obvious talent."

"Of?" She gave Bruce a slightly bemused look.

"Being able to talk to anyone about everything at any time. And of course, that gorgeous face of hers. If that isn't a talent – or a serious asset at least – then I am a purple duck." Bruce gave her small hug.

"Well, you don't look in the least bit a duck. Or purple, for that matter, except for the blueberry stain on your jacket." He said, fingering the bluish purple stain on her collar gently. She looked at him, smiling.

"Well, you know me. Just saving it for later…" She trailed off rather whimsically. Bruce laughed and tightened his hug. She rested her head on his shoulder briefly. In a sudden ill-timed swoop, the doorbell rang, which prompted a hasty exit for both adults.

* * *

It was Sana at the door, bearing four different gifts, and with Rachel in tow, with a few gifts of her own. Alfred arranged the ladies and the presents carefully, making sure they were all situated in the parlor comfortably, and making sure that Dusty had enough time to get dressed in suitable clothes. Isabelle arrived soon after, dressed in a cute pink dress with a matching bag and shoes, carrying several shopping bags.

"Dusty! I went to the boutique and got a few things for you. You look adorable in that dress!" Dusty looked down at the neat dark grey cap-sleeved dress.

"Thank you." She responded, "You look very nice as well." Isabelle looked down and laughed.

"I think it's a little pink. I brought a slightly more comfortable outfit with me. Once we all get here, I think I'll change." She said softly, giving Dusty a small smile. Dusty returned it gladly. Isabelle was one of the quietest, politest girls in the world, but never seemed to be put upon, or forced into doing stuff that she didn't want to. Dusty found her quite likable, and tended to talk to Isabelle more than Clementine.

Time slowly passed, and with it came Clementine, more food and approximately fifty perfectly humiliating presents for the "young bride". As the party drew to a close and as the models left, Dusty, Rachel and Sana started to fall into deep conversation. Or, more appropriately in mildly deep-but-mostly-mocking talk.

"So, Dusty, tell us. How many times have you fallen in love before you met Bruce?" Sana asked with all of her usual subtlety. She took a Dorito from an almost empty bowl and popped it into her mouth. Dusty tilted her head back in a thoughtful gesture.

"I don't know. Probably four times. Well, twice if you don't count movie stars." She said, smiling and putting on a posture of being completely confident. Inside, her stomach was churning. Oh, how she hated girl talk. It wasn't the actual information that was the problem, but it was the fact that she was divulging said information. It was counter-intuitive, and felt distinctly wrong. It helped to be vague, but with this particular crowd, she knew that it would work for probably five point two seconds, and then after that she would be forced to reveal said information. Knowing Rachel and Sana, they'd probably torture her as well…

She smiled, and looked at her watch. Three, two, one…

"And? Who were these people?" Sana asked. Dusty laughed.

"I knew you were going to ask me that." She paused, looking between Rachel and Sana, "They were George Clooney, Richard Dean Anderson, Damon Richards and…I think his name was…Jack? I can't remember." She said trailing off.

"Goodness! For falling in love with guy, it's shocking that you don't remember him very well." Rachel remarked.

"Oh come on, Rachel, I was six. We were in first grade together!" Dusty protested. "Jack Holbrook! That's it. Jack Holbrook. He spent two days holding my hand everywhere. Probably the highlight of my early romance years." She said. Sana leaned forward.

"And what about Damon, eh?" She said conspiringly. "He took you out once, didn't he?" She asked. Dusty laughed.

"Yeah. Probably the only time I have ever really felt like I was walking on the world. Until I got in trouble with my parents because I was fourteen and we left without telling them. Plus I wasn't even allowed to date until I was sixteen. I didn't really get punished, though, because it was the day before he moved. I just had to promise never to do it again." She said smiling, thinking of all the follies of her youth. For a supposed extra-intelligent girl, she sure had made a lot of mistakes. She only hoped that her adulthood had gone at least a little bit better. She doubted it, though.

"What about Andrew? He was your boyfriend for a month or so, wasn't he?" Sana asked. "You annoyed me to death with your griping after the two of you broke up."

Dusty laughed, and it wasn't more than half forced, "That, my dear girl, was hormones. I suppose you remember my fish died in that period of time as well? Hmmm?" Both Rachel and Sana laughed. Dusty turned to Rachel.

"So, are you like Sana and have a flavor of the month, or are you more like me and have a non-existent social life?" Dusty asked, grabbing for the bowl of chips herself, and licking the orange residue off her fingers afterwards. Rachel smiled.

"Neither I hope. I've had a few boyfriends, but none of them really stuck, you know?" She shrugged and grabbed a Twizzler from the open bag from the floor. Both Sana and Dusty nodded.

"So, tell us a few of their names…" Sana prompted. Rachel and Dusty looked at each other worriedly. Then Rachel shrugged.

"Well, Preston Miller, Zack Aarons, Bruce Wayne…" Sana's eyebrows shot skyward. Then she looked at Dusty accusingly.

"You're marrying her _boyfriend_?!" She said incredulously. Dusty thought about it for a moment.

"Well, yes. And you've made it all possible by arranging the wedding. Thank you, Sana." At the rather thunderstruck look on her best friend's face, she started laughing. Rachel started laughing as well.

"Trust me, Sana," Rachel said, "I wouldn't have let him go if I really felt we were meant to be. But to tell the truth, for us, it could only be a platonic relationship. We've been best friends since we were kids and we still are." She looked at Dusty, "Besides, the times of our respective relationships never overlapped. I'm not worried." Dusty laughed.

"I'm not sure you should be anyway. In a contest for beauty, you'd probably win, and a lawyer is more prestigious than a mechanic anyway." She said, taking another Dorito from the bowl.

"Of course, you also happen to have several million dollars." Rachel pointed out. Dusty gave her a gesture that translated across as 'good point.' Then she paused.

"You don't suppose that's his ulterior motive?" She asked. As if on cue, all three 'adults' burst out laughing. It would be several more hours before they went to sleep.

* * *

Okay. First things first: I'm sorry I'm late with the new chapter. The tenth flew by me so fast that I was kind of speechless, plus I was having medical issues that day (which are now all resolved), and the seventeenth I didn't have the reviewed and revised chapter yet from my beta. So. Lame excuses, but excuses none the less.

Now, thanks to Bryt, my ever-faithful beta, who's in a good mood even when I send a frantic e-mail to her demanding to know why she hasn't abandoned her life to make sure mine goes smoothly. Thanks for about 3 years of hard work (especially with me), and thanks for another few more.

Also, thanks to my reviewers for chapter 27: Bryt and motherduckatschool, you guys rock my socks.

Also, thanks to all those who have added me onto their story alert!

Until next week,

~Sabre.


	30. Chapter TwentyNine: A Wedding With Punch

Well, here we are.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine

October Twenty-Third

Dusty fidgeted in her long white dress as Sana finished the last touches on her make-up. After the brush left her face, she looked in the mirror. She had to admit that she looked lovely – much better than she usually did, but it didn't seem…real. She sighed.

"What am I doing, Sana?" Dusty said miserably. "Why on earth did I agree to do this? This is insane! I cannot, for an instant, believe that-"

"Dusty!" Sana whirled Dusty's chair around and tapped Dusty on the nose. "I'd hit you harder, but you're getting married in ten minutes. Calm down. You will be just fine. Now, I have to go get changed, and you will sit right here. Got it?"

"I will sit right here." Dusty repeated, fighting the urge to bite her lip. After Sana left, she wanted curl up in her chair and die. She just couldn't do this. She'd been right yesterday. She just couldn't get married. She knew if she waited for her mother, she'd be waiting until the day she died, and at the moment, that was all right with her. She looked at her jacket. Standing up, she checked her pockets. The keys to her Mazda were in there. She looked toward the door, and then started to put on her jacket, taking care that her sleeves didn't wrinkle.

Just as she pulled the jacket over her shoulders, the door opened.

"Going somewhere, Miss Grayson?" She turned around at Alfred's voice. She sighed and leaned against the door behind her.

"I can't do this, Alfred. I know I said I wouldn't run away anymore, but I just _can't_ do this." She said, trying to fight back tears. She'd look like a runaway bride anyway, there was no reason to add insult to injury by looking like a frumpy one. Instead of trying to dissuade her, or explain that this was paramount to her safety, he simply walked over to her and pulled her into an embrace.

"Life is full of hard things, and your life is no exception. I believe that you will do the right thing." He said in her ear. For a moment Dusty just rested in the arms of a man she looked on as a father. Then, Dusty pulled back, looking at Alfred with a new determined look on her face, inspiration having dawned on her like the morning sun.

"This is the right thing." She whispered. "This is the right thing." She repeated, then looked down at her jacket and started to pull it off. Alfred quickly helped her to get it off her and then checked his watch.

"It's almost time. Do you think you're ready, Miss Grayson?" He asked. She checked her dress and make-up and then took a few deep breaths.

"Alfred?" She said shakily.

"Yes, Miss Grayson?" She took a few more deep breaths.

"Is it okay if I still feel really nervous?" She said, wringing her hands. Alfred took her arm.

"You're a bride. I think you're entitled to a few butterflies." She sighed.

"I guess I just feel like since it's not _really_ my wedding, I shouldn't really feel like this, you know? Like…I'm not entitled to it." Alfred patted her arm with his hand.

"That's just nonsense, Miss. Every bride, no matter what the circumstances of her wedding has the right to feel nervous. Considering you have at least four people in the congregation who are after your blood, I feel you have a special right to feel more nervous than the average bride."

Dusty looked up from her hands, "Four? I know Watson and Selina were there, but who else?" Alfred thought for a moment.

"The one you call Montague and – if I'm not mistaken – Mr. Damon Richards." Dusty pulled in her chin.

"I didn't know Damon was out for my blood. Maybe Bruce's blood, but not mine, surely." Alfred smiled.

"At any rate, it would probably be best to steer clear of all four during the reception." He glanced at his watch.

"It's time. Take a deep breath, Miss Grayson." She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then the doors opened, showing the open aisle to the altar. A slow smile crept its way up her cheeks involuntarily as she saw Bruce and her little brother, Rick, in their impeccable tuxedos, as well as all of the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Jim Gordon smiled at her from his place on the stand as one of the groomsmen. She walked up the few short stairs in front of the altar and took Bruce's hand.

The whole wedding seemed to hit fast forward after that, and the next coherent thought she had was after she'd signed the wedding certificate. That thought was a rather dazed recognition of the fact that she had just, in effect, given up her name. The next thing she knew, she was kissing her new husband.

Her mind was trying to catch up with her body, and it was leaving her very confused. Throwing her confusion to the wind, and leaving it all to sort out later, she decided to just play along in the moment for the time being.

Once the customary lip-lock had ended, the two turned to face the audience. After the audience had clapped their hearts out, the two newly weds exited the stage.

* * *

Bruce had been worried about this. There had been a slight delay from when Dusty was supposed to come out and when she actually did. The minute she had emerged from the back room, all worries had quite honestly left his mind. He didn't really understand why he was so worried in the first place, seeing how it was just a union with benefits, but all such thoughts fled as she stepped through the door on Alfred's arm.

He watched her carefully, reading the nervousness in her face that seemed to disappear when she caught sight of him. His heart was doing odd things, making it feel like one minute it would jump out of his chest, and the next it would try and dance a jig. The ceremony seemed to take forever, with them both saying the customary scripture and 'I do's'. But the kiss they'd shared had sent jolts up and down his spine.

After they had released each other, Bruce felt like jumping up and down for joy, shouting (or bragging, whichever would fit the purpose best) that he was now bound to one of the most amazing ladies on the planet. But it didn't really seem to fit his image. After the wedding, they all went to Gotham's Botanical Center to take the wedding pictures. During a quick moment alone, while Dusty adjusted one of her cuffs, she gruffly spoke.

"This is taking forever." Bruce laughed softly at her remark, but quickly straightened his face when she sighed tiredly.

"I told Sana we should have eloped. It would've been so much easier, and with the good luck we're having, we could've probably forged a marriage certificate and gotten away with it." She said, muttering furiously to herself, trying to unfold the cuff the way she wanted. Bruce put one of his hands over hers, causing Dusty to let go, letting Bruce arrange the cuff like the other one. He patted her hand.

"There you go. Just think of it this way: it's an all-day social event. Tomorrow it will be over with and we'll be somewhere in the middle of the ocean going on vacation for a week." Dusty smiled.

"Oh fine. Ready to go back?" She asked. He nodded and took her arm. The rest of the pictures were taken in due time, and they found themselves at the reception. Bruce was getting tired of standing in the greeting line, and by the time the dancing started, he was almost at the end of his rope. Finally, though, he and Dusty were excused from the line, and he led her out to the dance floor for the bride and groom's dance. As they waltzed around the floor (as an homage to part of Dusty's past) Dusty sighed in relief.

"I wasn't sure if I could last much longer just shaking hands with everyone." She laughed looking around at the spectators. They whirled around, giving an excellent dance for the people to watch. Dusty had remarked to Bruce earlier that when she had gone to most of the weddings, the bride and groom dances were the worst, because it was so boring to watch them sway around. Apparently he'd fixed that problem.

"I agree with you. The next person, I think I would have pushed into the refreshment table." Bruce said once they had finished executing the twirl and had been doing the basic Viennese. Dusty laughed as he pulled her around into another turn. After another few moments, their dance had finished, and they both turned and walked to the refreshment table. From there, there was a slight bump in the whole reception plan. As they were standing by the refreshment table, trying to take a break from it all, an immaculately dressed, but invidiously expressional Damon Richards came up, smiling as falsely as wooden teeth.

"Mr. Wayne, how fortunate you are to have such a stunning wife. Many men have tried and failed to put themselves in your shoes." Then he turned his gaze onto Dusty with a malevolence that made her want to back up. He was greatly envious of Bruce and she was becoming extremely aware of that fact. She barely took notice when Bruce encircled her waist with his arm in a protective gesture. Bruce's patience was wearing thin as Damon carried on in words that were flattering, but carried double meanings that rendered them words that made Dusty more uncomfortable with every passing moment.

Bruce was no stranger to insult. One of the most difficult nights he'd ever gone though was the night of his thirtieth birthday, where as he was saving the lives of almost a hundred people by acting drunk, they took his appearance for real, and had acted accordingly, never knowing that he had saved their lives. It was a part of his job, but it was not part of Dusty's, and at Damon's next statement, he threw all his willpower into not decking the ballroom dancer.

"Your work in the foster homes is truly inspirational. Really, Mr. Wayne, your wife is really a killer bride." Trying to keep his composure, Bruce imagined releasing Dusty; his hand lingering on hers for perhaps longer than what was necessary, and turning. Carefully grabbing the half-full punch bowl he turned and with his trademark winning smile set firmly on his face, dumped the whole thing over the boorish young man's head. Bruce blinked, expecting to feel Dusty in his arms again, and hear the young man prattling on again, but instead there was silence, except for the orchestra, and the sound of Dusty holding back laughter.

Looking at the young man, who was dripping with red punch, Bruce gave the man a small nod, straightened his tuxedo (which by some miracle managed to stay clean), then lead Dusty away, who had gained control of herself. While they were in earshot of Damon, Bruce called over a waiter.

"Another bowl of punch please." He said, and then led Dusty onto the dance floor.

* * *

The night went on. Dusty was getting more and more tired with each dance, but by now she was having fun, and whenever she felt put upon by her well-wishers, she thought of Bruce's reaction to Damon and she immediately felt in control of her destiny again. She had hated feeling so powerless against a person who only used words against her. She leaned up against the wall, relaxing into the cool stone behind her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the next dance is the fathers and daughters dance. Will the Bride and her father please come to the floor at the conclusion of this next song?" Dusty's head came up. She knew who deserved this dance, and she found him, trying not to correct some of the waiters on their technique. Touching Alfred's arm, she held her arm out.

"What about Lieutenant Gordon, Mrs. Wayne?" She smiled.

"He has his own daughter, and you've done more for me than I could ever express. Just this one dance." She pleaded. He smiled, and acquiesced. As they walked onto the floor, the song – Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle – started. They took up a softened ballroom dancing posture, and then started to dance. As they danced, Dusty drew closer and rested her head against Alfred's shoulder as she looked at the various couples on the floor. Among them, there were Mr. Higby and Amanda Higby, his eldest; Jim Gordon and his daughter Barbara; and even Rachel and her father, who had been in town. She sighed, and listened to the music echoing around her. She felt so safe in the arms of a man she considered her father. She relaxed and lost herself in the embrace of her father until the music faded out. Then, giving Dusty one last embrace, Alfred led her off the dance floor to Bruce.

"Thank you, Alfred." She said softly, as she took Bruce's hand. Alfred gave a short little bow and then addressed Bruce.

"Shall I pull the car out front, sir?" He asked. Bruce nodded and looked at his watch. It was almost ten o'clock. He could tell that Dusty was pretty much beaten into the ground that she walked on, and yet still looked more immaculate than most of the women present (though, on further inspection, that might just have been a bias). Bruce watched Alfred walk up; whisper something to the director of the music, who in turn nodded. Bruce leaned over slightly and whispered into Dusty's ear.

"One more dance."

That dance lasted almost a lifetime, but not in a bad way. Still, by the time their departure was announced, and they were allowed to leave the festivities, Dusty felt more than ready to lean against her groom and sleep all the way to the airport. Two weeks of vacation…it sounded wonderful. By the time they pulled out of the parking lot, she had slipped soundly into dreamland.

* * *

Watson watched the car drive off. He wouldn't interfere with the honeymoon. Everyone deserved their moment of happiness. Montague came up behind him, speaking in rapid French.

"Sir, do you wish me to follow them to the airport?" Watson shook his head, replying in the same rapid tongue.

"No. But I want you to track the child. I want to know every intimate detail of his schedule. School, any extra curricular activities, and I want you to compile a list of his closest friends. Have Selina assist you. You need to have his schedule memorized by the time Mr. and Mrs. Wayne get home." Montague nodded, bowing slightly. Watson smiled to himself.

The time had come.

* * *

Wow. They actually got married.

:D Anyway. Thanks to motherduckatschool, Bryt, and suchicken for reviewing!

Until next week!

~Jousting Elf with a Sabre


	31. Chapter Thirty: Surface Tranquility

Here you go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty

The honeymoon went as smooth as a knife through butter. Due to their married-but-not-really status, they took turns sleeping on the couch every other night. Dusty reflected that the last time she went to the French Riviera it wasn't nearly as fun. Spending every day with Bruce not only perked it up - instant V.I.P. service, and not having to wait in passport lines was always a plus. As a result, and their playing the part of the interested tourists, the only part that was left to possibly dislike was the plane rides, and even then they had first class. Something told her he had practice planning cushy vacations. But now, in a bittersweet sort of way, it was over.

Dusty stepped off the escalator, her handbag in her hand, and her jacket tucked firmly under her arm, dragging her suitcase behind her with her other hand. Bruce followed, looking around for Alfred, and then pointing out him and Rick, who stood beside Alfred, to Dusty. Both of them smiled at their two friends as they approached.

"Master Bruce, Mrs. Wayne." Alfred said, taking Dusty's bag. Dusty hugged Rick and Alfred.

"Hello, Alfred," Dusty said, straightening her jacket. Alfred smiled.

"And how was the honeymoon?" He asked, leading the way toward the parking. Bruce and Dusty smiled broadly.

"I have so many pictures; I think we'll be sick of seeing ourselves after we finish looking at them." Dusty said. She ruffled Rick's hair. "And yes, before you ask, I did get something for you. But you're going to have to wait until we get back to the house before you can get it?"

"What is it?" Rick asked, his face lighting up. Dusty laughed.

"It's bigger than a breadbox." She said, keeping her tone matter-of-fact, but slightly teasing.

"Is it a big breadbox?" He asked, keeping his tone the same as hers. Dusty laughed, and put her arm around him.

"So, what's new, what's exciting? Have you burnt the house down yet?" She asked. Rick smiled.

"No, not yet."

"But not from the lack of trying." Alfred said from behind. Dusty and Rick looked back, smiling broadly before moving outside of the airport. Bruce walked outside and squinted against the setting sun. He watched Dusty and Rick walk closely to each other, telling one another about the exploits that they had gotten into in the other's absence. Rick was also telling Dusty about going over to his former foster parents' house in a week and a half.

"I'm so excited." He said, "I haven't seen her since she dropped by on my birthday." He spun around excitedly, and almost tripped, sprawling forward a few steps before catching himself.

"Yes, well, make sure you don't kill yourself beforehand, little man." She said, laughing, and helping to catch his balance. By then, they had made it to the car and they quickly loaded up the Rolls Royce. Bruce sat up front beside Alfred while Dusty sat with Rick, while he continued to expound on what he was learning in school.

"At first the quadratic formula wasn't making any sense, and then I realized that I hadn't subtracted 2ac from B squared, and that's what was throwing me off. You know, it's really interesting that if you forget an early part of the process, you mess up the rest of the problem." Dusty nodded in agreement. For the rest of the car ride home it was very much of an everyone-listen-to-Rick arrangement, but with the Jet Lag that Bruce and Dusty were going through, everyone was perfectly fine with it.

When they got home, Rick ran off to his room to get a few things that he wanted to show Dusty, while she and Bruce went to the kitchen to get something to eat, while Alfred went to put their coats away. Dusty sat down at the table with a pear in her hand. As she took a bite into the ripened fruit, she sighed, running a hand over her face. Bruce was shuffling through the mail, sorting the bills from the regular letters. Perhaps it was the jet lag. Perhaps it was the fatigue, or perhaps it was the fact that Dusty wasn't thinking straight, but the phrase popped out of her mouth.

"So what now?" She said. Bruce looked up at her. Dusty sat at the table, hair slightly mussed from the plane ride, fatigue etched on her face as visible as if someone had drawn it on with a pen. He put down his letters, and then came over to sit by her.

"What do you mean?" He asked. She sighed and put her pear on the plate that Alfred had slid under it a minute before the fruit hit the table.

"What do we do about Watson? We both agree that right about now I'm the safest I have been since my parent's death, and every day we're getting closer and closer on identifying every member of the league in Gotham. What now?"

Bruce opened his mouth, and then closed it. The look on his face was anything but reassuring.

"Bruce?" Her voice was somewhere between anger and panic. "There is a plan, isn't there?" He was speechless for a minute.

"Of course there's a plan, all of ... well… the details… just sort of ended...when…well…" Dusty's look was deeply incredulous. "Well, when the wedding took place." As he finished, she shut her eyes, and turned forward.

"Please tell me I didn't just hear that you don't have a plan for my future safety." She said, burying her head in her hands.

"I'm working on it." He told her, putting his hand on hers. "I've_ been_ working on it. Believe me. I'm just trying to figure out your involvement in the whole thing." She pulled up her head, giving him a wary look.

"Like how?" She asked. He turned her hand over, tracing the outline of her hand and her wedding ring with his fingers.

"I find you much easier to keep under control while you're doing things." He said, looking up and smiling at her. She raised her eyebrows.

"Control? What kind of things?" She asked. He looked down again, twisting her wedding and engagement rings around her finger gently.

"Well, you know, I was thinking that you could get measured and outfitted tomorrow by Lucius, and then when you get the suit, you would come with me on the rounds around the seventh of November." He looked up just in time to see her face light up in delight.

"Really?" He shrugged slightly, and nodded. Laughing, her mood ultimately improved, she kissed his cheek and ran out of the kitchen shouting for joy. Bruce looked up at Alfred.

"Did I just do the right thing?" he asked, watching the older man load dishes into the dishwasher. Alfred paused, then gathered a few more dishes from the counter to load.

"It is entirely up to you, Master Bruce to decide whether or not you have made the correct decision. However, I don't contradict that she will be very happy. In fact, personally, I think this is the best for both of you." Bruce looked up.

"How is this the best for both of us?" He asked. Alfred smiled.

"It's a chance for her to be useful again, and you will get the chance to find that people are trustworthy more often than not."

* * *

Dusty jumped onto her bed, grinning to herself as she stared up at the canopy over the victory that she had just achieved. She relaxed for a moment, drinking in the relief that she felt. She would soon be busy, doing the work that she felt she was meant to do. Then she sat up. Sitting on her desk, carefully placed there by Alfred, was the documents that she had to fill out to change her last name to Wayne. It was a change that was now bittersweet.

It wasn't that now she felt worse about it than before – to tell the truth, she hadn't wanted to do it at all before – but it was still like amputating a limb. It would certainly be better for her – safety-wise – but it was a part of her and even though she knew it was necessary, it was giving up a part of her past that she wasn't ready for. Then she shook herself.

"Dusty," She spoke aloud, "You are a grown woman, and you are _not_ going to die, just because you didn't want to give up your name. When avoiding suspicion: use tradition." She bounced herself to the end of her bed and then walked over to the desk, looking at the document. Then, sighing, she began filling it out.

Midway through the document, Bruce came in. Seeing the slightly pained look on her face, he asked, "Dusty, are you okay?" She dropped her pen and rubbed her hands across her eyes.

"Hmmm?" She looked at him, digesting his question, "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just changing my future, once again," She said, picking up the pen and continuing to fill the form out. Bruce came up behind her and looked at her name choice.

"Justine Grayson Wayne, eh? Not going to add any Dinglehoppers or Snarfblatts in there?" He teased. She laughed.

"I figured I'd do something predictable for once. Just this once, mind." She said, filling out the spaces and dates on the form, and signing her former signature. Finally, with an undeniable combination of nervousness and surprising eagerness, she signed her new name at the bottom of the page.

Justine Grayson Wayne.

Justine Wayne.

Weird.

She sat back and threw her pen onto the desk in front of her, once again rubbing her hands over her face. Bruce put his hands on her shoulders and started to massage them – gently, like he knew she liked. Dusty closed her eyes and then remarked.

"You know, you're not really conducive for staying awake while recovering from Jet Lag." She said, sighing softly. Bruce smiled.

"Well, it is almost eight. If you really wanted, you could go to sleep, and I don't think anyone here would have a problem with it." He said. Dusty opened her eyes and shook her head.

"No, Rick had something he wanted to show me, and I need to take this and all of my things to the post office to mail them," She said, sitting up and starting to check over her work. Bruce sighed and put his hands on the back of her chair.

"Dusty, it's eight o'clock. The post office closes in an hour, and you can't drive back anyway, because you have to send your license away." Dusty started to protest, but Bruce cut her off, turning her chair around. "Just because you're back in Gotham _does not_ mean that you can get back to your own pace right away."

"But –"

"No buts. What you need right now is a good sleep. Rick can show what ever he needs to show you tomorrow after school. Come on." He said. He pushed her toward the bathroom, where Alfred had put her suitcase. She sighed, and pushed him away half playfully, with slight annoyance worked into the fringes of her emotions.

"Fine." She said, yawning as she walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Bruce, suddenly finding himself with nothing else to do, wandered around her room, making his way to the bookshelf against one wall. Looking at the books, he read some of the titles. The Goose Girl, The Everything Fairy-Tale Book, The Seer and the Sword, Ella Enchanted, The Two Princesses of Bamarre…All of them Fantasy. And then he looked at the bottom shelf. Amongst all of the other books, there was one small, leather bound book that looked as well read as any of the others. Embossed on the side in gold was the word, "Journal." Intrigued, he looked at the book, debating whether or not he should pick it up off the shelf.

He decided not to, but instead picked another book, and read until Dusty emerged from the bathroom. She took in the sight of him reading the fairy-tales. He looked up.

"Nice collection." He remarked, closing the book he had been reading. She smiled.

"Thanks." He sat there for a minute, and then paused before speaking.

"Why do you have them?" he asked. She thought for a moment, and then replied, unsure of what he meant.

"Because I like to read?"

"No, I mean…why all the fantasy? From what I gather, you're more of a real world person. Every single one of these books, it seems, is fantasy." She looked down at the floor and then looked up, a rather weak smile on her face.

"It's kind of a silly reason, but it gives me hope that I can have a happy ending too. That's why my journal is in there as well." She said. She looked down.

Bruce didn't say anything at first. He couldn't. Then he swallowed his speechlessness, and said, "You will." He said. She turned from where she was examining her bedpost.

"Excuse me?" She said, her expression slightly confused.

He stood, laying her book on the edge of the shelf. Taking her by the shoulders, he looked into her eyes. "You will have your happy ending. I promise."

* * *

There was an annoying beeping going off somewhere above Dusty's head. Cracking open her eyes, she looked at the offending alarm clock, going off incessantly, but somehow cheerfully from its place on the bedside table. Groaning, she climbed out of bed, and rolled back into a backbend. She sighed, stood, and shook herself. For some reason, she felt like today was the prelude to disaster. Taking a deep breath, she started to automatically going through her various katas that she had been taught.

It was almost a half an hour before she felt better, more in control than she had in days. She was also now in more of a hurry than she had been in for days, excepting, of course, the airport hustle. However, airplanes and airports had always seemed to operate on a different time schedule than regular people and it didn't really seem fair to count them.

Then she looked at the clock, and realized for the first time she had a half an hour to get completely ready for work in order to get there on time. She looked at her desk. Her documents were all gone, and so was the paper. _Good,_ She thought hurriedly,_ one less thing to worry about._ Then she picked up her suit, which Alfred had kindly hung up in her closet during her vacation, and ran into the bathroom. Of all the days to have a board meeting, this probably had to be the worst. Luckily, Dusty didn't feel it was extremely important to primp in the mirror for very long. She also was more grateful than ever that it didn't matter whether her hair was dry or not to put it into a bun.

Quickly, she zipped up her low-heeled boots, and then ran downstairs. She screamed past the kitchen, almost going to the garage, before remembering that she no longer had a drivers' license. Trying not to create a scene, small or large, she then put on her 'I'm-trying-to-bear-it-honest' face, and walked into the kitchen. Bruce was there, munching on his regular typical healthy-but-wholesome breakfast. He took a glance at her, and then spoke.

"Was the board meeting today?" He asked innocently, taking another bite of his toast. She nodded. Alfred looked up from behind the stove.

"Can I get anything for you, Mrs. Wayne?" She almost started at the unfamiliar name, but then backed down.

"Um…All right. Could I just have some hash browns and a few slices of bacon?" She asked. Alfred nodded, per norm, and began cooking up her breakfast. It was a new sensation, being able to sit down and eat breakfast, but if a person learned one thing in this household, it was that Bruce Wayne _never_ rushed _anything_. In fact, by the time he had finished his breakfast, she had finished, and was looking through the different project she was working on to be prepared for the board meeting, and had been doing so for the last fifteen minutes.

"Okay, I think I'm ready to go." He said. He looked down at Dusty. Seeing her relieved look before she could wipe it off her face, he smiled and then said, "Dusty, not everyone can be as dedicated to work as you. Even though I did give up the playboy act, I'm not sure I can be parted with my dedication to laziness." She smiled and replied smartly.

"Oh really? Well, Mr. Wayne, I promise you, if you make me late for six weeks, you will pay for it." She said. Sticking his bottom jaw out, and looking down at her, he sized her up.

"How?" He asked. Her smile grew sly.

"Consider that the threat." She said, turning slightly and walking past him. Bruce smiled, and then walked after her.

"When did this devil wake up?" He asked as he walked after her to the garage. He stopped by his vamped-up Mitsubishi Eclipse, and she made her way around to the passenger side and with more grace than was generally exhibited by impatient people, she climbed into the car.

"This 'devil' woke up while you were eating breakfast." She said sweetly. Then her expression hardened, "Now drive. Just because I married you, doesn't mean I automatically get all of your bad habits." She said, and turned to look out the window, remembering just before Bruce reminded her to buckle her seatbelt.

It turned out; however, that Dusty's bad mood wasn't really all that much of a bad mood. They were only about fifteen minutes late for the start of her workday, and the board meeting didn't start until nine. Bruce and Dusty bid farewell with a crowd-pleasing peck on the lips, and then she went down to the basement, and he went up to the umpteenth floor of the building to his office for the few minutes that they had before the board meeting.

Almost immediately, Dusty felt she had forgotten something. It took her a few moments, before she realized that Bruce had grabbed her briefcase, and hadn't given it back. She sighed, realizing that she probably wasn't going to get any work done before the board meeting, and walked over to the elevator. Stepping into the metal box, she pressed the button that indicated the executive floor. In other words, Bruce's office. Dusty knew for a fact that all the managers had their own floor for their crew and their operations, and so, when it came time to find an office for the owner and the CEO, well, they just picked the very top floor and decked it out according to their status. 'Reformed' (or re-reformed) as Bruce was, he had a soft spot for flair that he could never really deny.

She looked at the floor indicator. Floor Twenty-five, only about halfway there. She rolled her eyes. This was the real reason she hated working in a large building. Not the size of the building itself, really, but the length of the elevator ride. She was fortunate enough, however, to not have to stop along the way. People were okay, but once they realized that she was their bosses' wife, the awkwardness grew like a forest of bamboo.

Ding! She stepped off the elevator, greeting Mr. Fox as he was walking down.

"What brings you up to the big-shot office?" He asked, looking around. Dusty smiled.

"A certain husband who keeps on stealing my stuff, if you know what I mean." She said, winking at him. He nodded.

"Well, Mr. Wayne seems to be in a playful mood, so watch your back. You and I both know he can get rather…"

"Mischievous?" She suggested.

"Yes, when he's feeling tricky." She laughed. She thanked him and started to walk away backwards.

"I'll watch my back, Mr. Fox, don't worry. But if you hear screaming, don't assume it's me," She said, and turned around. Mr. Fox smiled and continued his way to the elevator. Dusty wasn't like normal girls, and in many ways difficult to understand and therefore work with, but there was some sort of connection between her and Bruce that was almost astounding to behold. They worked together best, and he hoped that in time they would see that as well.

Dusty walked up to the secretary. "Hello, Jessica, is Bruce in at the moment?" She asked. The beautiful brunette looked up at Dusty.

"Yes, Mrs. Wayne, he just walked in. Would you like me to buzz him, or do you want to just go right in?" Jessica asked, somehow managing to give Dusty her full attention, and go right on filing paperwork. Dusty smiled.

"I'll just go right on in," She said, "Thank you." She smiled at Jessica as she walked past, and opened the door. Bruce looked up.

"Dusty?" He said, either not realizing why she was here, or deliberately ignoring that particular fact. She smiled and leaned against the door frame. "What are you doing here?" He asked. She smiled, and walked forward to his desk, leaning on it casually.

"You wouldn't happen to know what happened to my briefcase, would you?" She asked, giving him a deny-me-if-you-dare look, tinged with a streak of innocent that she always had when she threw out potentially dangerous questions.

"Is that a hypothetical question?" He asked, his eyes more innocent than usual, and Dusty barely saw him move to nudge the briefcase further under his desk.

"Aha!" She said, and ran around the desk, right as she was reaching for it; he grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her out of reach, and coincidentally, onto his lap. "Bruce!" She said exasperatedly, yet softly, conscious of the gossip mongers outside, "We're at work; we're supposed to be _working_!"

Bruce rolled his eyes good-naturedly, "Come on, Dusty, we have a board meeting in…" He checked his desk clock, "twenty-five minutes. We-"

"Mr. Wayne?" Jessica's voice came in on the intercom, "A 'Mr. Adams' is here to see you. Something about the Wilkenson-Bretco contract." Another voice cut in. It was rather nasally and distinctly reminded Dusty of some of the weasels she'd seen at the zoo.

"It's _everything_ about the Wilkenson-Bretco contract. He hasn't done anything about the-"

"Tell him to come back after the board meeting. We'll be discussing the merger in the meeting today," Bruce said to Jessica.

"He's insistent, Sir," She said, quite quietly. Bruce smiled, much more sneakily than Dusty felt immediately comfortable with.

"Tell him to just come in," Bruce said, "In about two minutes. Got that?" He asked.

"…Yes, Sir," She said, rather warily. Then the intercom clicked off. Dusty looked from the white box to Bruce.

"Why in two minutes? Why not now?" She asked. Bruce smiled, and straightened the collar of her suit jacket.

"Because, we need to check Mr. Adams's…tolerance for incompetence levels," She gave him a look. Dawning on what he was suggesting, she stood up.

"Bruce, you'd better start convincing me right now, because otherwise you're not going to have time." She said, backing up and around the desk. Bruce stood, and started walking around the desk as well.

"My pleasure." He said, and took several quick steps forward, capturing her in his arms, and in a very firm kiss. Trying not to repel him instantly, she kept following his lead, and to her surprise, the awkwardness and panic she felt faded almost instantly. The two minutes that they kissed passed much more quickly than Dusty thought they did, and soon there was a shocked gasp as Mr. Adams opened the door.

"Mr. Wayne! Please excuse me." He said. Bruce casually let Dusty go, but kept his arm around her as they both turned to face the embarrassed official. He held out his hand.

"Ah, Mr.….Adams?" He said, acting as if he had not just been caught kissing his wife very thoroughly during work hours.

"Yes." The man squeaked, taking Bruce's hand feverishly and shaking it in a dead fish sort of way. Dusty thought the poor man looked on the verge of a heart attack. Bruce continued, his typical magazine cover smile on his face. No…that wasn't the typical one… It seemed, more sincere somehow. She shook herself mentally. There she went, over analyzing people yet again.

"I'm very pleased to meet you. Have you met my wife, Justine?" He asked, indicating Dusty. Mr. Adams shook his head. Dusty inclined her head and held out her hand as well.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Adams," She said. Mr. Adams shook it almost absently.

"Very nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Wayne." He said, the shock still registering quite clearly on his face. For such a bossy person, Bruce reflected, he certainly didn't handle shock and embarrassment very well.

"Mr. Adams, would you mind if we talk about the merger after the board meeting?" Bruce asked pleasantly. The poor man, who had looked in his thirties (now resembling his fifties) nodded slowly.

"It shouldn't be a problem…Again, very nice to meet you, Mrs. Wayne." He said, tottering toward the door. As soon as he left, Dusty burst out in laughter. Bruce smiled and put his arm around her waist again. Dusty's laughs gentled, and she put her hands on top of his forearms.

"So tell me, do you do that often?" She asked. He smiled and shifted her closer, locking his hands behind her back.

"Only when I am faced with the unnerving prospect of having to argue company politics and/or policy with a person, whom, on further inspection, I shouldn't have to talk to in the first place. Besides, I have an image to uphold," He said. She smiled.

"Is that so?" She said, "I was actually referring to the part where I was concerned. Have you been caught... cavorting before?" She said. Bruce's eyebrows lifted.

"Actually, most of the women I have dated…generally left me alone during the hours nine to five." Dusty smiled, and smoothed the lapels of his suit coat.

"You keep doing that. Why?" He asked, unconsciously moving forward. She looked down for a moment, before shrugging a little.

"I don't know. Nervous habit, I guess. My mother did it a lot too, and I guess I…" She looked up at Bruce, blinking slowly, "I guess I just picked it up from her. Heredity and all of that stuff." He smiled again.

"And all of that stuff." He repeated softly but teasingly. She nodded, her head tilted to one side. His face grew serious. "Dusty?" He said her name almost as a statement, but with the barest hint of a question behind it. "What do you do if you're in love?" He asked.

Her heart almost stopped. This, subconsciously, was the one thing that she knew she wouldn't be able to handle. Visions of another woman in the household flashed through her mind. "I…I wouldn't know. I don't know if I've ever been in love." She lied. "I suppose that you would just start by saying you liked her, and then see if she has feelings for you." Whether it would help her or not, she envisioned how she would start, and then how she would like to be drawn into a relationship, "And then build it slowly." She added, "In my mind, they have to have more to the relationship than just…physical relations."

"What if she's my best friend?" He asked. Dusty's jaw dropped.

"You're in love with Rachel?!" She replied incredulously, drawing as far back as Bruce's grip allowed her to. Bruce rolled his eyes, and, deciding this wasn't going to go anywhere good if he tried to explain himself, kissed Dusty square on the lips, lingering just a little bit until she responded, making sure she knew _exactly_ what he meant. Then, releasing her, picked up his briefcase.

"I believe we have a meeting to get to." He said lightly. Her look was priceless; a mixture of confusion, shock, and something that he hoped was hope. Wringing her wrists once, she replied quietly.

"Okay…" Then she picked up her briefcase, and they walked out of the office together.

* * *

I didn't realize how fluffy this chapter is until I read it again. Yow.

Well, thanks to Bryt, motherduckatschool, and suchicken for reviewing.

By the way, Bryt, I promise I won't drop the ball again. You _will_ get the next chapter to beta before Thursday... Look! *points to other readers* we have witnesses. To said readers, apologies if there are more mistakes than usual. J.B. Wolfe is out of the country, and I was late getting the chapter to Bryt. My bad.

Anyway, Until next week!

~Sabre


	32. Chapter Thirty One: Cataclysm

Here you go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One

The next two weeks followed in stop-go motion. Some of the days took forever, unpicking the huge knots that were always present while sorting out criminals and their allegiances. It was actually going quite well, and given that both Bruce and Dusty were suddenly swamped with work (it was a conspiracy, Dusty just knew it), they were working more quickly than one would think they could. But on the other hand, the days that weren't slow whipped by faster than she could blink.

Beyond that, she was honing her skills in the Tumbler II and the Batpod. Let it be known, she could drive pretty much whatever she wanted to, provided it had two to four wheels and stayed on the ground. Mr. Fox and Bruce were also teaching her how to use the memory-cloth wings, and although she had crash-landed more times than she would care to admit, she was become more and more proficient with them every day. Still, the bruises she kept hidden behind suit coats and long jeans, slacks or skirts were enough to remind her that she was nowhere near efficient as she would like to be. Bruce told her, however, that it was nothing to be worried about, and – like rapier fencing – it was easier when you were actually out in the field.

And then, of course, there was Bruce. Every time she even thought about him now made her heart almost go into a stall. Every day when she came home (she refused to leave at four when Bruce did, most often she took a taxi, or Alfred came back to get her) there was a large fragrant bouquet of red roses and baby's breath in her room, usually accompanied by some sort of treat, or gift. She walked into her room, to the sight of tulips, roses and lilies, with a medium sized box next to it, wrapped in red wrapping paper. Sitting on her bed, her shoes still on, she carefully took the note out from underneath the professionally wrapped ribbon.

_For you, for the Thanksgiving Dinner. _

Hurriedly she tore open the wrapping paper, and opened the box that looked suspiciously like a jewelry case. Turning the case to face her, she opened it, and smiled at the gorgeous gems winking up at her. They were diamonds, and it was a whole set, earrings, necklace and bracelet. Carefully, almost reverently, she touched the cold stones.

Then she shut the case. To be sure, this present, which was the grandest of them all, deserved special attention. She glanced outside, and smiled again. Silently, but with the always present mysterious quality, it had begun to snow. Walking to the library, where Bruce almost always was, she paused before knocking on the door.

"Who is it?" His voice came from inside. She smiled.

"It's Dusty." She said, taking a step toward the door as she spoke, and then after speaking, stepping back.

"Come in." He said. She opened the door, and walked in. She saw Bruce sitting, surprisingly, at the piano. Walking up behind him, she put her hands on his shoulders.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked softly into his ear. He sighed.

"I don't know." He said, rubbing his face with his hands. "It just seems things are harder to bear tonight." Dusty's eyebrows furrowed.

"How so?" She slid down beside him onto the piano bench, facing away from the piano, but turned toward him. He shook his head. "Tell me!" She persisted softly, "I doubt you'll ever feel better if you don't share it with someone." She ran her hand over his back gently, much like she remembered her mother doing. Bruce's head dropped into his hands.

"They died twenty-three years ago today." He said. Dusty paused noticeably. The atmosphere changed palpably.

"Can you still remember it clearly?" She whispered her voice far away. Bruce looked up at her.

"Can you?" He asked. She nodded in response, suddenly unable to speak. "It's the worst feeling in the world, isn't it?" He whispered. She nodded again. He slid his arm around her waist, and pulled her tight against him, she also hugged him close, comforted in the safe enclosing feeling that his arms gave her. As they held each other, both sympathizing, both comforting, the tension and sadness seemed to melt into something tolerable. A few moments later they released each other slightly, neither healed, but able to continue.

"Where's Rick?" He asked. She smiled, laying her head on his shoulder.

"He's at Judy Peyton's house. He'll be there for the weekend." She said, her voice still quite soft.

"Does that mean that we have the house all to ourselves again?" He asked. She pulled back.

"And what does that mean? It's been yours all along, we've just kind of…borrowed it from time to time. Or, well, most of the time." She said. He laughed, looking into her eyes.

"So, what was the real reason you came in here?" He asked, placing his hand on her wrist, but never breaking eye contact. She smiled.

"I found your little gift in my room." She said, running her fingers along the line of his collar lightly. His eyebrows rose good-naturedly.

"And?" He asked, smiling expectantly.

"I love them." She said, then glanced over at the clock. "I think now, though, it's time to go get dressed for crime fighting." She said, standing up and drawing away. Bruce looked at the clock himself.

"Didn't Sana expect you to call in five minutes?" He asked. She looked at the clock. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like Russian, and ran out of the room.

"I'll be down soon, but don't wait for me, alright?" She yelled, disappearing down the hallway.

"Fine!" He yelled back, pressing the appropriate keys.

"Will the Mr. and Mrs. Please desist from shouting in the house?" Alfred's voice came from downstairs.

"Sorry!" The "Mr. and Mrs." Shouted from their different positions in the house. Down in the stairwell, Alfred shook his head, smiling to himself.

Dusty ran to her room and vaulted across her bed, narrowly missing the bedside table with her face, as she fished her cell phone out of her purse. Pressing Sana's number on speed dial, she turned over onto her back, gasping for breath.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sana, sorry I didn't call earlier, do you have time to chat right now?" She asked. The voice on the other end seemed to smile.

"I always have time to chat with my rich buddies." The redhead said, Dusty laughed.

"Well, at least I have the consolation that even if I don't have any friends for myself, I have them for my money. I have to run in a few minutes, but I just wanted to check in to make sure that you're back in Gotham and safe." Dusty said, resting her head against the headboard of her bed.

Sana laughed, "Well, yes. James and I are as safe as well can possibly be back in Gotham. Actually, we have just decided, before you decided to call, to be serious boyfriend and girlfriend."

"No!"

"Yes!" Sana said, pure, unadulterated joy coming into her voice. "We-" Suddenly, there was another beep on Dusty's cell-phone. Dusty bit her lip, hating to cut Sana off.

"Hold on for a sec, Sana, I have another call, can you wait for a minute?" At Sana's agreement, Dusty pressed the line two button.

"Hello?"

"Dusty?" It was Rick. She sat up, straight as a rod.

"Rick? What's wrong?" She asked. His voice was scared and he was breathing hard.

"Watson and the French guy are in the house." He said. Dusty's heart and breathing stopped.

"What, are you sure?" She choked out. Rick was close to tears with fright.

"Yes. They called out for me. Dusty, they have Tom already." He said, "Judy's so scared. Please come fast. Bruce's phone was off." Dusty was almost frantic. Bruce's phone was not only off, it was dead, and lying on Bruce's desk in the library, recharging.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I promise you, Rick, I'll be there in time. Please stay quiet, and keep Judy safe."

"Okay. Please hurry." He said. Dusty's heart was beating so fast, she was sure if she had not had training to stay calm, she would be either hysterical or dead.

"I will. Now go find a place to hide, get out if you can, but don't come out of hiding until I say it's safe." She said. She paused, "Good-bye. Rick, I love you," She said.

"Bye, Dusty." He whispered, and disconnected. Dusty switched back to Sana's line, jumping off her bed and running down the hallway as she spoke.

"Sana, I need to go now. Rick's in danger. Please, I need you to trust me. If Bruce or Alfred calls, I'll be at Judy and Thomas Peyton's house." She said.

"But Dusty, what are you going to do?" Sana's voice was now somewhere between incredulous and scared.

"I don't know, but I have to go now." She said. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye. Be safe." Dusty paused as she entered the library.

"I will." Then she disconnected, pressed the keys on the piano, and ran down to the Batcave.

She wasn't used to putting on her suit, but made a valiant effort, managing it in less than three minutes. It was light, it was flexible, but it was also armor, and it made her feel like she was going much slower than she was able. Silently, she picked up her helmet and ran to the Tumbler. Pulling a tight three-point turn, Dusty revved the engine, and blasted out of the cave, upsetting many of the birds on the abandoned road, and ripped down the dirt road, the afterburner still on. Bruce would probably kill her if he found out, but on the other hand, Rick would be gone if she didn't.

Rick or Bruce? No contest. Not for the stakes involved.

As she turned off onto the highway, she turned off the afterburner. She wouldn't have even bothered with the highway if it wasn't technically faster and more legal than the alternatives. Thankfully, though, traffic had thinned out, and people were turning out of her lane to let her through, probably recognizing it as the "Batmobile". Speeding up, she turned off on the appropriate exit and started going through the suburban zone at over one hundred miles per hour.

Skidding to a stop a block away, she jumped out of the Tumbler. She ran silently up to the house, avoiding the snowy patches strewn about the yard and looked into the window. Her breath caught. Watson was standing not three feet in front of her, speaking rapidly in French to Montague, who was undoubtedly a few feet beyond. She sank below the windowsill, trying not to let herself panic. The wedding had been bad enough, them in the congregation, threatening her from their presence, but her little brother was trapped in the house with them.

Determination overset her panic.

She slowly, silently made her way around the house, trying to find a way in. When she had visited their house before, she found that there was a small room that adjoined the house to the master bedroom, which had been added on later by its previous owners. Somehow, she had an overpowering feeling that they were hiding there. As she made her way to the back of the house, she could see the small glow of a flashlight, invisible to Watson and Montague at the front of the house, and through what was probably at least three locked doors.

There was a crash from the main house. _Make that two locked doors_. Dusty thought grimly to herself. There was no time to loose. Easing open one of the windows, she slid inside the house with all the noise of a mouse through soundproofed walls. She looked around for a suitable hiding place. It was only a matter of time before they found this place, but Dusty did not want to make herself known before it was totally beneficial.

Finally, she found a deep dark corner near the door to the master bedroom. It was cold, despite the now-closed window. Dusty could feel the sting of cold on her nose and cheeks, but her adrenaline, which had since gone into battle mode – beyond high gear – did not let her feel it.

The inevitable came too soon for Dusty. With a mighty crash, the door from the house exploded into the room, leaving the hulking silhouettes of Montague and Watson in the doorway. Neither carried a flashlight, but that didn't necessarily mean that they couldn't see her. But she couldn't feel their eyes on her. One knew when one was hunted, but she couldn't feel the familiar feeling just yet. Montague moved a chair out of the way, and suddenly he was free to Dusty's line of fire. With an impressive shout, she jumped up and gave Montague a fierce butterfly kick in the face, he landed on the ground with a thud, and she turned to face off Watson. He moved toward her like greased lightning, and they were engaged instantly. She fended off kick after kick and punch after punch, reminded very much of her training sessions with Bruce.

But he had never been trying to kill her, and she knew it.

Soon, Montague recovered enough to join it the fight, and she faced two masters. She was growing tired, and she knew they were too. Montague wasn't as nearly as steady on his feet, still combating her hard kick to his face, and Dusty took full advantage of it, laying another two on him in quick succession.

Watson kept chipping at her, and only through luck, adrenaline and quick reflexes did she keep him from hitting her face. She was still holding her own, though, and was doing quite well.

Until she heard the horrible report of a gunshot. It was a large gun, from the sound. Rifle. Possibly shotgun. One that would as soon knock a limb off as graze its recipient. Luckily for Dusty, it only grazed her, but it drew her attention away enough that both Montague and Watson kicked her in unison. Horrible pain spread through her left arm and side, and briefly all went black as she spun and hit the floor face first. As she wavered in and out of consciousness, she heard screaming, and shouting, and another sharp crack. Then she saw Thomas Peyton, in his hands a smoking double-barreled shotgun.

Then something fell on her, horribly gasping for breath and life. It was Judy, Dusty realized. She was dying.

Then she passed out.

* * *

Batman was speaking to Jim Gordon when the alert came in. "What is it?" The dark shrouded man asked in his growling voice. Gordon hung up.

"It's what appeared to be an armed robbery turned probable homicide. It was just reported by the neighbors." An uneasy feeling stirred inside the caped crusader.

"Where?"

"Somewhere in the uptown suburbs. Neighbors were alerted when they heard crashing and gunshots." Gordon said, rubbing his face. "They say they saw a dark figure try to fend off two, but they don't know why he or she was there. The only residents were a couple who would occasionally take in foster children."

Batman's head came up. His hand went to the spot on his belt where he usually kept his phone. It was empty. Then he remembered the instrument sitting on his desk where it was patiently charging. He could have kicked himself.

"Commissioner Gordon, may I use your phone for a minute?" He asked. Gordon nodded, and led him down to his office, when Batman first called Dusty. Nothing. She didn't go anywhere without her cell phone, but without his, he couldn't use the GPS in her phone.

Sana. He turned to Gordon again, who was patiently waiting. "Excuse me, but do you have a phone book?" Flipping through, he found her apartment number and typed it in to the phone.

As it rang, Batman realized that he needed Gordon to leave the room.

"Commissioner Gordon, do you think I could conduct this phone call in private? It is rather urgent." He said. Gordon nodded, and with all the grace of a man in his position, he left the room.

"Hello?" Sana said. Bruce Wayne started to talk.

"Sana, do you know where Dusty is?" He asked, his voice harsher than he intended.

"Um, well…"

"Please, Sana, her life may depend on this." He said.

Sana's breath hitched, "She said she was on her way to Judy and Thomas Peyton's house, she sounded really scared. Something about Rick being in danger-"

"Sana, thank you, I need to go now."

"Please get to her in time." She said, her voice quiet and scared.

"I'll try." He said, and hung up. Then he stormed out of the room. Jim fell into step behind him.

"What happened?"

"The residents' names are Judy and Thomas Peyton. Send an ambulance, we might need it." He said, climbing out on the roof. Jim followed.

"I will. We'll have people there soon." He said. Batman looked at Jim.

"Have them wait until I get there. I need to go in first, otherwise people might die." He grated out.

"I'll send a notice, but I doubt they'll heed it." Gordon said.

"If they value their lives, they will." Batman countered, and jumped off the edge of the building. He made it down to the Batpod, and kicked it into high gear. It wasn't far, and he knew the city well enough to make well-judged shortcuts.

He made it to the house in less than ten minutes, almost lifting off the ground as he ran jumped off the bike and ran to the house. Then he slowed as he entered the place. He followed the path of what was obviously was stealth trained men, though they had broken down the doors at the hinges, apparently going for intimidation. He followed the path of destruction through the house, until he came to a small room. There his breath caught.

Two female bodies. And one was Dusty's. Rick was nowhere to be found. He tried not to show emotion, knowing that Batman did not have any relation to any of them. Judy lay on top of Dusty, arched over her, with a bloody wound on her chest, obviously dead. Dusty lay beneath, eyes closed, and she was…breathing? Moving Judy's body carefully, he silently checked Dusty's life signs, finding a steady heartbeat resounding throughout her. Sighing with ultimate relief, he picked up his wife's bruised and battered body, his breath shaking with unshed tears of joy.

She was alive.

* * *

It was a tricky business to explain to the authorities how Justine Wayne came to be at the house. It was even more tricky to explain the superficial nature of the wound, given the caliber of the rifle shot, and the range. Bruce had woken Dusty and helped her out of her armor, leaving her in the t-shirt and jazz pants underneath. He'd stashed the bloody armor in the Tumbler, and then drove it and the Batpod away from the scene to a place where he could pick them up later. Then, as Bruce Wayne, he joined his wife at the hospital.

She was lying in her hospital bed, sleeping, when he arrived. There was a violent purple bruise on her right cheek, spreading upwards to her temple where she had apparently hit the floor. He walked over to her, brushing the hair from her face. She stirred slightly.

"Shh…" He said, pulling up a chair. Her eyes opened. The doctors said that her only real injury was the gunshot wound on her arm, but they had given her quite a strong painkiller and sedative anyway, due to the trauma of losing her brother, and one of her friends.

"He's gone." Her voice was hoarse and breaking, barely above a whisper. Bruce smoothed her hair back, concern lining his face.

"We'll find him." He said, taking her hand. The only light in the room was from a small lamp on Dusty's bedside, casting a shadow over the left side of her face, but the glimmer of a tear was seen before it rolled out of view. Dusty shook her head.

"Watson took him, Bruce. The only way that we'll get him back is if I give myself up." Her voice broke off, before she whispered, "I don't want to die. I don't want to be forgotten." Her voice gave out on the last syllable, and a few more tears ran down her face. Bruce stood, and carefully let down the guard on one side of her bed, then sat down beside her, stroking her hair. Then, carefully, so not to hurt her arm, or yank out her I.V., he put his arm behind her shoulders and pulled her up into an embrace. Dusty, still under the sedative, tried not to break out into gut wrenching sobs, and only succeeded because she had no energy. Still, for a good half hour, the tears fell silently down her cheeks, and her only comfort was Bruce's embrace, and his constant whispers telling her everything would be all right.

* * *

And so the action begins.

Thanks to motherduckatschool, suchicken, and Paola Hernandez for reviewing!

Until next week!

~Sabre


	33. Chapter Thirty Two: Running

Here! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two

They let her go home the next day, having given her a prescription for the pain, and the dressings for her shoulder wound. Dusty, in Bruce's eyes, seemed to have lost all color and vivacity overnight. They both knew she wouldn't be able to go after Rick for another month, as her passport was in transit, and through the worst of rotten luck, they were unable to pay the expediting fees, due to some rule that someone had made up specifically for this type of situation.

So he and Alfred watched her breeze through three days, staring out at the snow covered hills of Wayne Manor, doing nothing except pine for Rick, who seemed unattainable and totally lost. But on the fourth day, something changed. In fact, it was a change that bordered on bipolar.

Dusty had disappeared. Bruce nearly flipped his lid searching the house, trying to find her. When he got the notion into his head to check the garage, he almost choked when he found that her Mazda was missing.

"Alfred, did she tell you where she was going?" Bruce asked him as he sat down to a brunch - it was much too late for breakfast, but since he hadn't had breakfast, the meal he was having presently couldn't really count as lunch. Alfred admitted that she hadn't.

"I saw a car drive out at almost six-thirty, but for some reason it did not dawn on me that it would be her. She has been in a trance-like state for the past few days." He said, pouring some coffee into Bruce's cup.

"Six-thirty?" Bruce said, bolting up from the table, upsetting his coffee cup almost to the point of spilling it, "She's been gone for almost five hours?" He said, trying not to shout, but the severity of the consequences of Dusty's actions made it more than a little difficult to be reserved. All of a sudden Dusty's words of, 'The only way that we'll get him back is if I give myself up,' echoed through his mind over and over. Alfred looked at his employer severely.

"Master Bruce, please understand that if I had realized it was her, I would have stopped her, were I able to. But please also understand that if she felt so strongly as to run away without telling anyone, there really would have been nothing I could have done to stop her."

"She's injured!" Bruce protested. Alfred lifted his eyebrows, waiting for the obvious to dawn on the younger man. It did. "Good point." Bruce conceded. Truthfully, as he had already experienced, no matter what limitations were set on Dusty, if she really felt the need to do something, there was really nothing in the world that could be done to stop her. Bruce once again reflected that women like her shouldn't be ninjas.

He sighed, "So what do we do now?" He sighed. Alfred looked almost mournful.

"We wait for her return. We don't know where she is and we don't know where she would be." Bruce opened his mouth to protest, until Alfred cut him off, "And it would cause for a great amount of speculation in the community were you to run after her when there's no reason for her to be missing. Remember, they do not know about Master Richard." The press had not been told, considering Dusty's delicate condition, and to tell them now would create unneeded assumptions about why they chose to keep it a secret. Alfred shook his head. "All we can do, Master Wayne, is wait."

* * *

Dusty coughed as she leaned against the wall of Wayne Enterprises, feeling her arm throb, and heaviness in her midsection making her sick to her stomach. She gasped desperately for some resemblance of health, and breathed heavily. She had abandoned her car in the parking lot outside of Lewiston's Eatery, and had been wandering on foot, trying not to throw up from the pain in her arm. Not that she would have anything to throw up. She had left without eating any breakfast, and now that it was lunchtime, hunger was leaving her cold and delirious in the cold November air.

She huddled down by the building. She would never find him unless she kept looking. She would go to their headquarters and bargain, even if it ended with her own life being taken. It was worth it.

Tears leaked out of her eyes, and she pulled her heavy sweater closer, and started to walk down the grey snowy streets.

* * *

It was almost midnight. Bruce was pacing back and forth across the floor, like he had been for almost two hours. She had been gone almost eighteen hours. He was sure she was either in the hands of Watson or dead. Or perhaps both. He couldn't concentrate on anything else. He'd even called Rachel and Sana, to ask if she had called either of them. She hadn't. When asked why he, of all people, needed to know, he'd successfully diverted their questions by simply saying that she had left and had neglected to tell anyone.

If that wasn't a lie of omission, nothing was. He sat down in a chair, rubbing his eyes in utter fatigue. If it had been a weekday, at least he would have had to concentrate on work. _Curse Saturdays_, he grumbled in his mind. He'd finished all the work he'd brought home around four in the afternoon.

Suddenly the doorbell rang. He stood, almost running out of his study. Barely keeping his balance around the corners, he ran to the front room, and looked down the stairs into the entry hall. His heart sunk and nearly exploded at the same time. Dusty sat in the hall chair, Jim Gordon of all people standing behind her shoulder as she appeared exhausted and disheartened. Alfred and Gordon looked up at Bruce as he descended the stairs, Dusty kept looking at the floor, sniffing every once in a while.

"Lieutenant Gordon." Bruce greeted the policeman, as he finished descending the stairs, shaking the commissioner's hand.

"Mr. Wayne. I just brought Dusty back. We…" He trailed off and motioned Bruce to follow him a short distance away.

"We found her wandering near the bridge to the Narrows. She seems to be healthy, though extremely depressed. Mr. Wayne," He took a long look at Dusty, "She's told me about Richard being kidnapped – I'll admit, there's not a lot we can do. I haven't seen her like this since her parents died. She's sinking into depression fast, and I feel like if we don't somehow pull her out of it…we'll lose her." Bruce's head turned toward Dusty. Alfred was carefully leading her to the kitchen. Bruce turned to Gordon.

"Thank you so much. I cannot begin to express how much I appreciate you bringing her home. She left this morning, and we had no idea where she was for most of the day." Bruce swallowed, "Thank you."

Jim Gordon smiled, "When she's with you, she's happier than whenever I see her somewhere else. If I had let her alone, I would have regretted it forever. By the way, I took the liberty of having one of my officers drive her car back. It's in its proper place in the garage." Bruce smiled softly.

"Again, thank you. Don't worry, I'll make sure she'll well taken care of." He said, reaching out his hand to shake Gordon's. Gordon took it.

"I believe you. But I'll still worry about her. She's almost as close to me as my daughter is…and to lose her now…Just promise me she won't go to Mrs. Peyton's funeral on Monday. She won't be able to handle it. Please, you of all people could make her stay." His voice was almost pleading, though the human tone was well hidden behind the rough policeman exterior. Bruce took a deep breath.

"I promise." Bruce said solemnly. Afterwards, they exchanged a few more pleasantries, until Lieutenant Gordon left. Then Bruce almost stalked over to the kitchen. As he walked in, he started to speak, his emotions coming out in harsh tones. Dusty maintained eye contact with the floor, hunched over as if in pain.

"How could you do something so thoughtless?" He said quietly, his voice loaded with unidentifiable emotion that seemed to be spilling out everywhere. When she replied, her voice was soft and faint, much like an ashamed child.

"I was just trying to find Richard."

"Don't you realize that you were just playing into Watson's hands?" Dusty closed her eyes, and hung her head even further. "If you'd been caught, what would that have done for anyone?" He said, his voice getting louder. Alfred gave him a look sharper than what Bruce would have expected at the moment. Dusty just sat inconsolably at the table, her face lined with sadness and stress. Bruce repeated himself, "What would that have done for anyone, Dusty?"

Her eyes opened suddenly, and she looked up. The haunted, bleak look in her eyes took him aback, but the sharp edge in her voice pushed him back even further. "Don't you think I thought of that?" Her hoarse voice grated like nails on a chalkboard. "I could have been at Watson's headquarters well before you had even realized I was gone. I was trying to see if they had him there. They don't, Bruce. The place is abandoned. I only stayed out there because I…I didn't want to go home. I knew you would get mad at me, and since I wasn't feeling good anyway-" She broke off, coughing so hard she began to retch. Alfred moved quickly to her side and helped her sit up straight. All emotion seemed to drain out of Bruce. She had been afraid. Of him.

He sighed, his hard exterior falling away from him as he moved closer to her, soon close enough to pull her into embrace, which he did. Her breathing grew calmer and calmer until she leaned into him, breathing slowly, almost as if she was asleep. He looked down, seeing her staring glassily off into space. He bent his head and whispered in her ear. "I'm sorry. I was just so worried." She sighed, and moved closer to him, whispering back.

"It's all right. So was I."

It took a while to get Dusty to eat something, especially as she claimed she had no appetite, but it had been almost twenty-four hours since she had eaten, and the pain pills she had been prescribed required food. On the other hand, though, she felt undeniably nauseous, and felt like anything that went down would be in a hurry to come back up. In the end, though, Alfred made some beef broth, and managed to get half of it down before Dusty felt like it was too much. After, Alfred changed the dressing on her arm, which (due to the snow and mud in the streets and the fact that she hadn't changed it the whole day) was filthy. Finally, though, after some more dilly-dally, Dusty was ready for bed.

She resisted actually going to bed, first of all sneaking down to the Batcave and starting to work on her connection chart, and working on it for a whole hour before Bruce came down and hauled her up to bed. Forcibly.

"Let me go!" She said locking her arms around the edge of the doorframe and pulling herself toward it as hard as she could. Immediately her left arm screamed with displeasure, and she let go, her body going limp. Bruce, still somehow managing to keep a hold on her, lowered her gently down to the ground.

"Dusty," He said calmly, as she tried to calm her breathing, "You're acting like a two year old child." She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Please just leave me alone." She gasped out.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." He said, and picked her up, carrying her the rest of the way to her room. She stayed where she was, but once when he passed on his way back from his rounds he though he could her sniffling from her room. His heart ached, but he just couldn't let her destroy herself. That much he knew.

He could tell that she had been crying the next day. She came down to breakfast (or lunch, as it turned out) with dark rings under her eyes. Immediately after, she returned to her bedroom. When Bruce looked in on her some three hours later, she was asleep on her window seat, curled up into a ball, her features lit up by the light from the white, snowy sky through the window directly above her. Smiling softly at her somewhat peaceful expression, he picked up a comforter that was on the end of her bed.

Tucking it around her, letting his hand linger on her shoulder, he had turned to leave when he heard a soft, pleading voice behind him.

"Don't go." He turned around. Dusty's eyes were closed, and he could tell she was still asleep, but beyond a shadow of a doubt it had been her that had spoken. He moved back to her side, kneeling by her.

"What's the matter, Dusty?" He whispered softly, not expecting her to answer. Then to his astonishment, she did.

"I can't stop thinking about Richard. He's my brother, Bruce. I don't know what I'd do without him…and he's gone." She murmured, her smooth skin creasing as her forehead crinkled in thought. Bruce's own forehead creased in worry. It only intensified when her breath suddenly hissed in. "No." She whispered. He touched her head with the tips of his fingers.

"Dusty?" He said softly.

"No." She said, her voice low and frightened. She turned halfway over, lighting up a tear that ran down the side of her face. He grabbed her hand. Memories of some of the nightmares he had been subject to, even in the recent years, made him more than willing to wake her up in order to spare her the pain and the fear of such dreams.

"Dusty, wake up." He said close to her ear. She jumped, her eyes moving behind her eyelids.

"Bruce?" Her voice had shrunk to a timid, scared sound. "Bruce, help me, he won't let me go." She said, another tear slid down her cheek.

"Dusty, wake up!" He said, louder. She turned more violently. Suddenly her arm shot out, almost catching Bruce in his left eye.

"Let me go!" She shouted, turning almost viciously, yanking her hand out of his. Tears slid down her cheeks more hurriedly. "Richard, come back!" She said, holding out her hands to an invisible person. Bruce grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

"Dusty, wake up!"

* * *

Dusty could see Richard, holding his hands out. "Dusty, come get me! Please, Dusty, I'm scared." She tried to reach him, but the closer she got, the farther he moved.

"Come back, Richard!" She screamed, her heart hurting, she fought the person who grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to force her somewhere she didn't want to be. Where was that?

"Dusty!" A strong voice ripped through her consciousness, and with a jolt, she woke up. Bruce's concerned face looked down at her. Breathing hard, she looked around, seeing only her room, with its creamy white walls, and dark-stained furniture. Closing her eyes, she laid back into her pillow. She heard Bruce stand, and then felt him seat himself beside her. Stroking her cheek, he just sat beside her, not saying a word. Soon she relaxed. Bruce watched her face, the worry lines smoothing out to recreate the illusion of peace and calm. Eventually her breathing evened out into the deep breaths of slumber, and with great reluctance, Bruce stood and left the room.

Nightmares plagued his dreams that night. Through the deep haze and general feeling of wrongness, he could see flashes of an empty bed, and Dusty struggling against Watson, tears running down her face as he thrust a gleaming sword into her midsection.

Bruce woke up in a cold sweat. He had to check on Dusty. Bolting out of bed, he threw on his housecoat and ran to her room. As he entered, his heart jumped in his chest, she wasn't there. He looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of her room. Unable to read it in the dark, he then moved into her room and checked the glow-in-the-dark clock she had on her nightstand. 3:45. Her bed didn't even look slept in. Where could she be?

He ran out of her room, determined to do something about it. Making his way to the library, he pressed the three notes to enter the Batcave. Silently, but almost frantically, he walked down the passageway. What usually only seemed to take a few steps now seemed to be miles long. As he pressed the button for the elevator, he wiped his hands on his housecoat. When he reached the bottom, he ran out into the cave. Dusty sat at her desk, her head resting on her right palm, staring at her computer screen.

All tension suddenly left Bruce. He walked over to Dusty and hugged her from behind, being careful of her injured left arm.

"What are you doing up this early?" He asked. Dusty ran her hand over her eyes before tiredly answering.

"I couldn't sleep." She said, her tired voice contradicting her words like discordant notes on a piano. Bruce looked at what she was looking at. It was the police profile on Crane, as well as several other files. Including one Thomas Peyton.

"Dusty, you have to stop beating yourself up about this. There was no way we could have known-"

"He had a record, Bruce." She bit out, slamming her fist against her desk, narrowly missing her keyboard. "He had a police record, and a history of being involved with all sorts of people. If I don't beat myself up about it, who else will? I was so…argh!" She pulled away from Bruce violently and placed her head in her hands. "This is even worse than being taken down by Montague and Watson." She said, closing her eyes.

Without warning, Bruce took Dusty by the shoulders. Standing her up, he gave her a warm embrace. "Your arm won't heal if you keep staying up this late, and your heart won't heal until you put this behind you." He said. "Now are you coming?" He asked, looking down at her in his arms. She leaned her head against him and nodded, her fatigue obviously overcoming her anger. Carefully, he put his arm around her and led her upstairs to her room, tucking her in carefully under her covers. She was asleep before he had walked away. He touched her cheek with his fingertips. Pity filled him. At the moment, it was not easy to be Dusty Grayson Wayne.

So his nightmare hadn't come true. As he walked back to his room, he took several seconds to contemplate her words. _If I don't beat myself up about it, who else will?_ He thought about it, then, in his mind, answered her question.

_I will, Dusty. Rest assured, I will.

* * *

_

Angst! Hmm...strangely this is seems new...

Well, thanks to Siriusly-a-princess, and suchicken for reviewing!

Until next week!

_~Sabre_


	34. Chapter Thirty Three: Heart and Soul

Here you are! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three

Montague sat before the younger Grayson sibling, studying the child as Richard ate. He was undoubtedly an intelligent child, and stubborn, just like his sister. Indeed, the eleven year old refused to make eye contact with him, and not because of fear. Watson had soon tired of the child, leaving Richard in Montague's care. Montague honestly couldn't blame Watson. Richard had not uttered a single sound since he'd been taken, leaving Montague to wonder if the boy could actually speak.

"Are you finished?" He growled at the preteen. The boy's eyes lifted, and Montague found himself face to face with the most vehement stare he had ever seen.

"I am not." Richard said slowly. Montague was almost taken aback, before remembering that this was Grayson's brother after all. Even when they were on the same side, almost two years ago, she had gained a reputation for being the most stubborn person at the monastery, if not in the whole world. Montague had the most disturbing feeling that Richard would not only go the same way, but he would better at it.

"Would you please hurry? I would like to do other things than watch you eat." Montague said, frowning, and pulling out a weighted throwing knife out of his sleeve. Richard's eyebrows rose.

"From what Mr. Watson said, I am considered a guest, and as such, I am not required to hurry when I don't feel I need to do so." He said clearly, with better diction than most scholars of the English language could boast. Montague suddenly figured out why this child was not in public school. Forget the fact that he was smarter than all of his peers, but he was very, very annoying. Montague stood.

"Believe me, Mr. Grayson, you should feel fortunate you're considered a guest. Otherwise, you'd be lucky to be alive." A small smile quirked on the preteen's cheek, a mirror image of Justine's own I've-got-you-now smile.

"Well, then, I am certainly fortunate to be guest." He said, an impertinent smile on his face. Montague growled and turned away sharply. After all was said and done, he would take great pleasure in killing the brat himself.

* * *

Dusty walked through the snow, delighting in the silence of the twilight around her. For once, she was at peace with herself. Even Bruce, who had the knack of calming her and making her think sensibly, even when she didn't want to, now was throwing a complication into her life that wasn't necessarily appreciated. She closed her eyes against a gust of cold wind, and was thankful that she had put on her heavy winter coat and scarf. What was it with her life right now, anyway? Richard kidnapped, the death of another friend, and on top of it all, she was falling in love with someone who was probably her best friend.

Falling in love? She shrugged it off. At any rate, she didn't have the energy to think about it at the moment. She walked over to a small gazebo in what was usually the rose garden. Sitting down, she rubbed her arm subconsciously, grimacing at the dull ache. It wouldn't leave too much of a scar, she had been assured, but it would take it's time to get fully healed. She leaned her head back against one of the pillars that held the roof up, closing her eyes.

There was so much that needed to be healed, so much she needed to do, and be forgiven of. Her behavior of the past few days had been nothing less than horrid. Falling apart almost worse than when her parents had died, she could barely think of the past few days, particularly the parts when Bruce had come to her, without feeling terrible about herself.

How she missed Rick. There was always something that she could count on in him to lighten her day. She thought back over the summer, teaching him how to defend himself, to ride horseback, and how to dance. It was never boring or tedious to be with him. Now there was the chance she would never see him again. Closing her eyes, she blocked that thought from her head. It wouldn't help her formulate a plan to find him. There was definite waiting period until she got her documents back, especially her passport. There was no doubt that Rick would be taken out of the country, most likely by private jet, to avoid most passport queries.

Then a disturbing thought came to mind. What if they just killed him? True, he was a hostage, but knowing Rick, and knowing that his personality was at least mostly like hers, he would consider it his solemn duty to annoy the dickens out of his captors. On the bright side, they might just send him back, but on the other hand, they might lose patience very quickly. Watson especially. He wasn't as tolerant of her when she got something wrong as normal teachers were (one of the reasons he passed her off to Ra's for a year) and for him to actually take on an eleven year old voluntarily was almost a side step in character.

Unless he'd changed. Dusty had, and she knew it. She found herself doing things these days that she never would have dreamt of doing even a year ago. A year ago…Her mind drifted back, and thought of the date. With almost a jolt of surprise, it occurred to her that it had been exactly one year since she had met Bruce Wayne. Considering what they had been through, it hadn't seemed like it, and yet at the same time it seemed like so much longer. She opened her eyes, staring up at the darkening sky out the side of the gazebo. With one part of her heart, she wished everything could stay the same, and with the other part, she was so thankful that things had changed.

"I am hopeless, aren't I?" She laughed to herself, snuggling down into her coat, and tilting her head back again.

"No, not really." Bruce's soft voice came from behind her. She opened her eyes, turning around. She started to stand, when he motioned her to sit. "Don't get up. I was just wondering where you were. After Saturday…" He trailed off. She nodded, looking down, her expression downcast.

"I'm so sorry about that. I was tired, and grieving, and…I don't know. I wasn't myself." She said. Bruce sat down beside her, pulling his gloves better over his hands, hunching slightly forward, bracing against the gentle cold wind. She leaned against the post again, but didn't close her eyes. "Do you know what I feel is interesting?" She said. Bruce turned toward her.

"What's that?" He asked, his voice still soft.

"That even when you don't always think you love someone, you do." Dusty said, her eyes faraway. "That if you really love someone, then even if they make you angry or not, you're always able to forgive them. Even if you don't want to." She whispered her next sentence. "It's part of being in a family. And when they're taken away..." She trailed off into silence, staring off into the middle distance.

Bruce looked back at her. "What do you remember about Rick? When he was young, I mean." He asked. Dusty smiled, a rush of memories coming back to her.

"He was about as much as he ever was. He's grown, of course, intellectually and physically, but his turn of phrase, and the way that he handles people is really much the same way. When he was little, he always wanted to sit on my lap when I drove my car." She laughed, "He said it was so he would know what it would feel like when he was older." Then she calmed. "Life isn't like that, is it? You can prepare as much as you want, but things hardly turn out the way you want them to."

Bruce nodded, "Did you ever…miss him when you were at the monastery?" Dusty shook her head, her smile fading away.

"I forgot all about him. The more I think about it, the more it fills me with the horror that I've done the same things to both of the siblings I left behind."

"Both? I thought you only had Rick." Dusty shook her head again.

"Charity died a long time ago, but I still left her behind. I forgot all about her. I don't have memories of my own that I shared with Charity. All of them come from photo albums and old cassette tapes." She breathed out heavily, her breath appearing foggy in the cold November air.

"When did she die?" He asked. She shook her head.

"When I was four. She was two…" Dusty buried her head in her hands, "Dad told me when I asked that we were skating on the pond behind our house, and Charity went where Dad told her not to go…" She looked up, her dark green eyes sad. "She drowned." Bruce put his hand on her knee. She smiled softly, "but I've never wondered why I've had such a hard life. I have, lately, and I know it, but it's always seemed more important to go on living. Is that bad?" She caught Bruce's gaze.

"I don't think so. If you've felt it's important, you can't have strayed from that." Bruce said. Dusty leaned on Bruce's shoulder.

"It's just…I've been wrong about so much before…" She trailed off. Bruce shifted.

"Dusty, answer this. Is it wrong to live out your life as best you can? Your parents did, and even Charity did, even though a mistake eventually took her life. How can you feel guilty for trying your best?"

She looked away, "I didn't always try my best." She said, leaning forward to put her elbows on her knees. Bruce sat up and smiled.

"I think, given that you try to most of the time, a little rest now and then won't really hurt." He said, patting her on the back. She nodded, and silence fell. It reigned for almost an hour as the two adults watched the sky darken further and further until the lamps flickered on around the manor. Bruce stood, and stretched a bit.

"Well, I bet Alfred will want us indoors soon. If you want your arm to heal, you'll need to get a good rest." He said. She sighed, straightened in her seat and looked out the side of the gazebo.

"You can go. I don't feel like going in just yet." Bruce studied her carefully. He noticed the circles that still darkened the area around her eyes, and realized that she probably hadn't been getting much sleep anyway. Then he held out his hand.

"What if we linger on our way back, and have Alfred make us some hot chocolate?" He asked. She looked up at him.

"You're not going to give up on me, are you?" She asked softly. He smiled.

"Never."

* * *

They walked around the grounds, talking about pretty much everything until about ten. By then, Bruce could see that Dusty was slumping where she stood, and proposed they went inside. This time she did not refuse. Once they were inside and had taken off all of their winter gear, they went to the kitchen. Alfred quickly got the gist of what they wanted, he shooed them off to the living room to wait until their hot chocolate was done.

Dusty dropped backwards onto the plushy couch, her head and back on the seat, while her legs were over the armrest. Bruce smiled and sat beside her head, pushing her light brown hair away from her face. Her eyes remained closed, but her lips softened into a peaceful smile.

"So what am I going to do with you?" Bruce whispered. Dusty's smile widened.

"I don't know. I'm sure you'll think of something." She whispered back. He ran his hand over her head again, being careful of the bruise that was now fading. They were quiet for a few moments, Bruce running his hand through Dusty's soft hair until Alfred came in with their drinks. Dusty sat up, taking the hot mug from Alfred and taking a sip, settling back into Bruce.

After Alfred left, they were silent for a few more moments. Then Dusty spoke. "You know, it's been a while since I've sat in front of a fire and drank hot chocolate." Bruce smiled, staring into the flames, just as she was doing.

"Why is that?" He asked. A small smile quirked one corner of her mouth.

"Well, most of the reason is I didn't have a fireplace, and sitting in front of a radiator just doesn't have the same aesthetic feel." She said. Bruce laughed.

"And the other part?" He asked. She sighed.

"It's just not the same without people you love. My Dad and I used to do this every Christmas Eve, just sitting and talking about, well…everything. Toward the end…there wasn't really much to talk about. He and I were growing apart, I think." She closed her eyes, "Why is hindsight always 20/20? Why can't we just blind ourselves and pretend everything was alright, even when they weren't?" She opened her eyes, and Bruce wasn't all too shocked to see them misted over with tears, "Why did everything have to change?"

Bruce shifted so his arm was around her. "I guess…" He trailed off, trying to put what he knew to be his answer into words, "Change brings about new challenges, and new things to explore. If nothing had happened, would you be the person you are today?" Dusty shook her head, and then laid it against Bruce's shoulder.

"It's just…hard sometimes." She whispered, closing her eyes and shifting closer.

"I know," Bruce whispered back, his arm tightening around her, a veil of memories suddenly clouding his mind, "I know."

Dusty fell asleep against Bruce's shoulder, the stress of her predicament and injury, compounding with the fact that she hadn't slept well for the past few nights sent her into a deep slumber. Bruce didn't bother to wake her, instead, picking her up carefully and, while cradling her in his arms, carried her up to her bedroom. He carefully set her on the window seat before drawing back the covers on her bed, admittedly almost hitting his head on one of the posts in the dark, before picking her up again and laying her down. He touched her face once before turning away. As he turned, however, a hand caught his wrist. He turned to see Dusty looking at him, her eyes deep clear pools of emotion in the dark room.

"Don't leave me. Please." She whispered pleadingly, "The nightmares come when I'm alone." He sat down on the edge of her bed, taking hold of the hand that she had wrapped in a death grip around his wrist.

Gently, and not unkindly, he slipped his hand out of hers. "I'll be right back." He said. Dusty watched him go. She didn't know what possessed her to tell him about the horrible nightmares, but his company certainly made her feel more at ease than any other time of day. He came back in clean casuals, clothes she knew he slept in. Then, carefully, he slipped into the covers behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling close to her.

She was asleep before she heard him whisper 'goodnight'.

* * *

Ahhh! Angst!

Thanks to motherduckatschool, Second Star On The Left ('Thanks' to the formal bit, ...'maybe' to the less formal bit, 'you'll see' to the informal bit.), Siriusly-a-princess, suchicken, and Bryt for reviewing.

Also, please forgive any errors found. I realized at one a.m. this morning that I forgot to send Bryt this chapter...Fail.

Thanks for all your support!

Until next week!

~Sabre


	35. Chapter Thirty Four: Planning

Aaaand another chapter! Sorry it's a bit late!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four

She woke up feeling warm. There wasn't any other feeling to describe it. She just lay there with her eyes closed, relishing in the wonderful feeling of safety and utter security.

"Morning, Dusty." She opened her eyes, and was met by Bruce's gaze. She smiled and whispered back.

"Good morning." He smiled, and tightened the embrace he already had her in.

"How did you sleep?" He asked, his breath moving the hairs on top of her head. She made an unhelpful noise that didn't indicate anything one way or another. "What?" He said. She pulled back slightly.

"No nightmares," She said softly. He smiled in a self-satisfied way.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked. She smiled.

"I could have a painkiller or two for my arm and I wouldn't complain," She said, burrowing deeper into Bruce's arms. He smiled and rested his head on top of hers. He'd watched her for almost fifteen minutes before she woke up, and even then it took her quite a while to wake up completely. By the time he'd woken up until she'd opened her eyes, almost forty-five minutes had passed.

After another fifteen minutes, he nudged Dusty. "What?" Her voice was muffled from where it was nestled in his shoulder.

"I think we could go down for breakfast now." He said, "If we're not down there soon, I think Alfred will come and get us." She turned her head, to look at him. After a minute, she sighed and replied.

"Okay."

* * *

After breakfast, there was a pow-wow at the counter as Alfred did the dishes. There were travel arrangements to be made, and most of all, they needed to collect the arsenal that was appropriate for their supposedly/somewhat legal travels.

"Guns are out." Dusty said, making a note on her laptop.

"Guns are always out." Bruce countered, "They don't have nearly as much control as a knife or hand-to-hand combat weapons do." Dusty turned to him and nodded, indicating by her sarcastic air the she knew exactly what he meant.

"What I meant, is that even if we actually did use them, they'd be out, because you're not allowed to carry them into a foreign country without a special permit. Although I have that permit-" Bruce made a noise of displeasure. Dusty gave him a leveling look, "Although I have that permit," she repeated, "To get into Tibet, I would have to keep it out in the open, even if I did manage to make it through airport security. Not something I want to do on both counts," She said, making another note on her computer. Bruce picked up a pencil that he had in front of him and started playing with it.

"Why don't we just use my plane?" he asked, suddenly putting the pencil down in front of him. Dusty looked up, the light from her computer screen illuminating her face.

"You've had a plane all along, and you haven't mentioned it to me?" She asked, snapping her computer shut. He smiled and looked up at her calmly.

"I thought it might be wise, in light of recent events, considering I didn't actually want you leaving the country." He said, keeping eye contact with her. He detected a flash of annoyance, and then she re-opened her computer. She clicked twice.

"Well, scrap that plan. Now we have a lot more options, considering we can bypass most of airport security," She stated, clicking a few more times on her computer. Typing furiously for a few moments, she finally started reading off her plan. "Bruce and I will go to Tibet. Watson's pretty predictable in his places of retreat. Alfred, you'll stay here. We'll need some sort of excuse for why we're gone," Dusty said, "Something that I can tell the people I'm close to. Watson can't have any idea that we've gone after him until we have," She took the mug near her and took a sip. Breathing in the herbal tea's steam appreciatively, she set it down.

"Perhaps if we were to say that you were ill, Mrs. Wayne, and unable to handle work or even leave the house." Dusty thought about Alfred's words and then leaned back in her chair.

"What about Bruce?"

"Master Bruce does tend to keep his own work hours, regardless of the supposed schedule they have him on," Alfred said. Bruce smiled and shrugged as if it weren't his fault, "Plus, with his wife supposedly ill, I doubt anyone would really dispute the fact that he would want to stay home with her."

"And what about the missing jet?" Dusty asked.

Bruce smiled, "We'll have the pilot fly it right back. With luck, no one will know that it was ever gone."

Dusty thought about this, "Then we'll do what Bruce and I do best?" Bruce looked at Dusty.

"Hike?" He suggested innocently. She gave him a look and then smiled.

"No. Solicit help from unsuspecting strangers. I am _not _going to hike all over Tibet."

* * *

Montague switched on his computer. Gratefully, one of the other men in the monastery had been willing to watch the Grayson brat while he researched something that had been bugging him for a long time. As the computer started up - he was going to have to get a new one, the slow pace of this one was driving him mad - he thought about his problem.

Batman. Of course, it was every decent criminal's problem in Gotham, but it was sincerely bothering him, in a way he only had a hunch on. The computer finished starting up, and he clicked into the Internet. Bypassing his start up page (the worldwide criminal who's who guide) he went to Google search. He typed in 'Batman'. After about fifteen minutes of searching through pointless news reports or a fan site (Montague snorted at these. Not only were they silly and insipid, but the design wasn't even all that great.) He came upon a gold mine. It was called 'The Informative Site of Batman', hardly more than a fan site, but it gave documentations of nearly every Batman rescue that had occurred, which dealt with the public, organized by date. He looked through the dates.

They matched. He ran through his memory, remembering the day Watson staggered in, demanding for Grayson's – or actually it was now Wayne's – blood. The day she was almost captured in Beijing, the various times he'd seen her. They all fit. There was the matter of appearance, of course but at night, in such a frightening way, it was easy to imagine how peoples' perceptions might be off. The voice: a scrambler, easily. And the fighting style. And the motivation. It was all clear now.

Justine Wayne was Batman.

* * *

Dusty ran through her list of things she needed to pack. It had been almost two weeks since their pow-wow and a lot of the details had been refined and expounded on. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, and thought of anything she might have forgotten off the list. There was a week left until her documents should be here, and that fact was chafing her worse then rough material against a sunburn. She had already most of her weapons packed and ready for travel. Amazingly, despite the fact that she had more weapons presently than the average person collected in their lives, she could still secret away most of them on her person without looking like a walking armory.

Suddenly there was shouting from what sounded like the hall outside her door. "Dusty! Dusty!" It sounded like Bruce, but what he would be doing running and shouting through the house (especially after living with Alfred for the better part of thirty years) she had no clue. Nevertheless, she opened her bedroom door. Bruce skidded inside, barely missing Dusty herself. Once inside, he pulled a one-eighty, picking her up and swinging her around.

"You will never guess!" He said, setting her down. His hands were behind his back. Dusty couldn't help it. Rather calmly (with a healthy dose of caution thrown in), she replied what she honestly thought.

"You've just eaten an entire bowl of sugar?" She asked, trying not to flinch away from the clearly excited billionaire. He laughed.

"No, look what you got in the mail!" He said, thrusting a package into her hands. Dusty knew exactly what it was. Ripping it open, not even bothering to use the 'easy open' strip, she thrust her hand inside. It was all there. She pulled out her documents, her pilot's license, drivers' license, all her various weapons' licenses, and then, with great reverence, she pulled out her passport. She looked at her husband of a month.

"Get packing," She said, her voice incredibly serious, "We're leaving tomorrow."

* * *

Dusty was up well before four the next morning, checking the different bags they had packed. She was so glad that they had their own plane. There was no way in a million years that they would make it past the Department of Homeland Security with some of the weapons they were bringing with them. Not that any of them were bazookas or anything like that, but at least three of the swords they were bringing along were longer than the legal limit for baggage, and they would most likely have had to stop at every security checkpoint because of the amount of electric equipment they were bringing along. She sighed and sat down on the end of her bed, looking at all of the bags that were strewn around her room. There was a soft knock on her door.

"Come on in," She called, expecting Alfred. Bruce opened the door, his eyes partially closed, and an expression that denoted that he'd just barely woken up, or had been up but he wished he hadn't been. "Morning, Bruce," She said, getting off up her bed, picking up another piece of bugging equipment and sliding it in a nearly full hockey bag.

"What are you doing?" He asked, squinting his eyes against the light. Dusty looked up at him, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Packing?" She suggested innocently. He glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner.

"It's three thirty in the morning, Dusty," He said, seemingly trying to convince her that it was much earlier than the time that anyone should be awake.

"I'm aware of that," She said, placing a GPS inside it's protective casing and sliding in beside the bugging equipment. Stifling a yawn, she moved around two other suitcases and started to pull out clothes for her closet.

"Why aren't you asleep?" He asked, his eyes more open now, but that same peculiar expression on his face.

"I'll sleep on the plane. I just need to pack my clothes and I'll be ready anyway," She said. Disbelief and more than a little skepticism crossed Bruce's face.

"Dusty, you probably know better than I do that sleeping on airplanes offers no real rest – especially for you. I don't want to walk off the plane into an ambush in Tibet with you completely Jet Lagged," She looked up at him with her own dose of skepticism.

"They are _not _going to be waiting for us as we get off the plane," She said, grabbed a stack of shirts and walking over to her own suitcase. Bruce had only seen that suitcase once before and that was when she had moved in. Interestingly, it looked a little more worn. He shook himself. He was tired, and it was absurd that she had actually been anywhere other than here in her room packing. He knew of twice that she almost went places but… Again, he shook it off.

"Dusty, can't you pack in the morning?" He asked, trying to pull his head around that she was awake and functioning normally at three thirty in the morning. She looked at him strangely.

"Three o'clock in the morning is morning, Bruce," She said. Suddenly her eyebrows furrowed, "speaking of mornings, why are you up? I thought you got in from Batman about an hour ago." He shrugged.

"Insomnia, due to the curiosity of why my wife was awake at three thirty in the morning. Last time you did this, you will remember, you happened to be in a huge thunderous cloud of self doubt," He said. She paused and nodded in a conceding way.

"But right now, I'm just packing. You can go back to sleep," She said, then paused, "Or, well, go _to_ sleep, seeing how you weren't asleep in the first place." Bruce rolled his eyes. One side of her mouth quirked up into a half smile, "I promise, as soon as I'm done I'll go to sleep. This is something I've done before," Bruce rolled his eyes once more.

"I'd rather you just go to sleep," He said, "We're not planning on leaving before noon anyway." A puzzled look crossed Dusty's face.

"Why not?" She asked.

He shrugged, "We have to file a flight plan, load the plane with gas, and clear all of the legal bridges with our international destinations before we actually leave the ground. Plus we have to load all of these," He indicated the large amount of suitcases lying around her room.

"There's only four, Bruce. And two of them are only things we need as far as Tibet that we can even leave there."

His eyebrows furrowed as he surveyed what was in the suitcases. "What's that?" He asked, pointing to one of them.

"Our League armor," She said, "I found yours when I was looking around the Batcave one day. At any rate I was thinking that after Tibet, we'd be wearing it a lot of the time. Just, you know, in a minimal effort to keep us alive until people stop shooting." She said, turning to pack her shirts into her suitcase. She fit it in snugly and moved back to her closet to pick up some more clothes.

Bruce shook his head, "Fine. I know I'm not about to win, but will you promise to be in bed before four, even if you're not done packing?" Dusty turned, paused and nodded.

"I'll be up by nine," She remarked, before Bruce turned around and tried not to obviously stumble back to bed.

He woke up several hours later to the insistent beeping of his alarm clock. He looked furiously at the offending instrument, trying not to act on his desire of beating the poor thing into his bedside table before rolling out of bed and doing a quick fifty, which was followed by the rest of his morning ritual, dressing in his comfortable dressy casuals. He went down to breakfast to see Alfred moving around the kitchen, preparing not only their breakfast, but their lunches and dinners as well.

Dusty was nowhere to be found. "Alfred, have you seen Dusty this morning? She told me she'd be up by nine." He said, looking around the kitchen. Alfred smiled.

"I doubt you'll find the Missus up just yet. She was up until four, as I'm sure you know. She hasn't pulled off her five-hour sleep trick for some time now, and after she has been used to eight or nine hours of sleep, you may be called upon to wake her up at ten. Any more, mind you, and she'll get angry." He said, packing bread into a hamper. Bruce smiled and sat down to his breakfast. He kept a careful eye on the clock, and at nine forty-five, he was finished with his breakfast and on his way up the stairs. As he entered her room, he smiled. She was draped over the lower half of her bed, her arm hanging over the side, and her hair covering her face in leonine proportions in regards to thickness and color. The perfect picture of 'passed out from exhaustion'.

He walked over to the bed and carefully pulled her hair away from her face. Her calm, peaceful expression didn't change.

"Dusty?" Bruce said softly, stroking her hair.

"Hmm?" The sound was mostly nasal, but she was now awake, and Bruce continued.

"It's ten, you need to get up now." Her eyes opened the rest of the way and she bolted up straight.

"It's _ten_?" She said, her voice hoarse from sleep and her eyes rapidly blinking to make the world focus. She shook her head, making – at least in part – the tiredness in her system run for cover. "I am so dead." She said, bolting off her bed, tripping almost as badly as when she'd first gotten sick from the nerves, and catching herself before she sprawled out on the ground, before staggering into the bathroom. Bruce watched her stagger across the floor, obviously distressed, but for some reason, all Bruce could do was smile.

* * *

Sana typed on her computer, trying to explain to her contact in Paris that she was _not_ going to change the designs, regardless that they were in very odd colors. James sat in her office, somewhere behind her, she wasn't quite sure where, and was fiddling with a pen or two, sometimes making them little people talking to each other, and other times turning them into drumsticks and jamming out a series of beats that made her bob her head or feet in time.

At the moment, she was pretty sure he was drawing pictures, but she didn't want to ruin his 'manly image' on accident by turning around to see if she was right. At last she was done. She turned her chair around to see James leaning over a piece of printer paper, scribbling away, her pastel crayons and her multicolored highlighters near to hand.

"What are you doing?" Sana asked, standing up and starting to walk over to him.

"No! I'm not done yet!" He said, creating a barrier with his arms. She laughed, walking back over to her desk and starting to pick up her things. As she sifted through her mail, there was a plain white envelope with no return address. Odd. She turned on her lamp and looked at the letter with the light, all the while her back to James. There seemed to be only paper. She took out her letter opener, and slit open the letter. It was written with what seemed to be a typewriter.

The letter itself was very odd.

_Ms. Tormont,_

_My name is Paul Montague. I am a friend of Mrs. Wayne's, and I haven't come in contact with her for some time, and I am quite worried about her. If you could contact me with her phone number at 165-957-4772, it would be very pleasing._

_I know you can help, and I have faith in you._

_All the best,_

_P. Montague_

Sana crinkled her nose. Surely Dusty would have told her about him, but on the other hand, there was eight years of Dusty's life that she didn't know about. It could have easily slipped her mind. Picking up her phone, she dialed the number on the page.

The phone started to ring. "Hello?" A prim, British accented voice answered the phone. Sana picked up the page.

"Hello, is this Paul Montague?" She asked. The voice turned more pleasant than before.

"Yes, this is him. Is this SeQuina Tormont?" He asked. Sana replied to the affirmative.

"I have Justine Wayne's phone number right here, if you would like it now." She said, quickly pulling out her address book to Dusty's page.

"Sure. Hold on, let me get a pencil." He said. After a pause, he spoke, "All right, now what was it?"

* * *

Special thanks to Bryt (Who is here with me!) for looking over this chapter. You rock!

Also thanks to Siriusly-a-princess and Bryt for reviewing!

Until Next week!

~Sabre


	36. Chapter Thirty Five: Dreams and Reality

Well, well! Here you are!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five

Dusty peered at her computer, trying to blink back the exhaustion that Jet Lag was threatening her mind with. They were in Beijing, in the executive suite at the JW Marriott, no less, and she was trying to make arrangements from where to go from there. It was eight P.M., and Bruce was sitting in the chair, half asleep himself, with the large screen T.V. blaring out a commercial. Normally Dusty would have told him to turn it down or - better yet - off, but at the moment it was the only thing keeping her awake.

"Dusty?" Bruce said, not bothering to lift his head up off his hand.

"Hmm?" She said, sitting up straight and rubbing her eyes. He sighed and turned his head toward her.

"Why don't we leave all of the super-sleuthing until tomorrow? You and I are both tired, and I can tell the T.V. is the only thing keeping you awake." Dusty looked up at him, and nodded, sighing. It was hard to rest, especially now that a rescue mission was underway, but conceding a temporary set back, she closed her laptop and stood. Bruce turned off the T.V. and took an extra blanket and pillow, lying down on the couch. Dusty watched for a moment.

"I thought it was my turn." She said, blinking away a headache. He looked up at her from the couch, cracking one eye open.

"Well, I'm making you skip your turn."

"But-"

"Go to bed, Dusty." He said shortly, turning over, and shifting to make himself comfortable. She opened her mouth to argue, realized what she was about to do, and then turned. She brushed her teeth, and then without doing anything else, collapsed on the bed.

Despite her exhaustion, she laid on the bed for what seemed like ages, thinking about Rick, not only how much she missed him, but the different memories that she shared with him good, bad, old and new. Somewhere in her musings she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Bruce started awake, senses on high alert. What had happened? In the air lingered some sort of electricity, like the quiet after a very loud noise. Then he froze. A small snuffling noise came from the direction of the bed. Bruce stood, ignoring the slight stiffness in his body. Dusty lay on the bed, eyes open, completely awake, tears running down her face. Bruce slid onto the bed beside her.

"What's wrong?" He whispered. She turned her head away from him, the tears on her face reflecting the soft light from the window.

"I had a dream…Rick…" She whispered before breaking off, more tears rolling down her face. "He's dead, Bruce, I just know it." Bruce looked at the clock. It was barely two hours later. He reached down, and pulled the covers over the both of them.

"Dusty, look at me." Bruce said. Opening her eyes, she turned her head to look at Bruce. The pain registered clearly in her face.

"What?" She asked, shivering from the cold outside their warm cocoon of blankets. He leaned over her and kissed her forehead. When he pulled back, he looked into Dusty's eyes with a curious intensity. In the dark, her eyes looked deeper than ever.

"I don't think Rick is dead. Watson needs him, and so do you."

Dusty's arms suddenly wrapped themselves around his neck and pulled him down into a hug.

"Thank you." She whispered into his ear as he rolled onto his side, bringing her with him. Unwinding her arms from around his neck, she was suddenly keenly aware how close they actually were.

"Dusty…" Bruce trailed off. She inched closer.

"Yes?" She whispered. Silently, he leaned forward and kissed her. After what seemed to be an eternity of stars, fireworks, and feelings that suffused every inch of her, he pulled back.

"Never mind." He whispered, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "Now go to sleep. I promise I won't leave." He said. She sighed contentedly, and nestled herself against his shoulder, safe in his arms, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

Rick awoke with a start, breathing hard, trying not to break down into tears. Vivid dreams, with Judy dying over and over again were bad enough, but today Judy's face had turned into Dusty's, and her dying gasps had been loud and frightening, not soft and almost inaudible like Judy's had seemed to be.

His gasping had awakened his watcher. He didn't know who it was, there were so many people assigned to look after him, it was a wonder that someone hadn't lost him. He saw the shadow of his minder stand.

"Grayson, you alright?" It was a feminine voice. Somehow that made him calm. He nodded, knowing that she could see him as better than he could see her. Surprisingly, the ninja sat down beside his bed, "Was it a nightmare?" She asked. Rick remembered her voice now. It was the one they called Kyle, but Rick knew (because she was at the wedding) that her first name was Selina.

"Yes." He whispered. She seemed to soften in her posture.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked softly. Rick's eyes were becoming more attuned to the darkness, and saw the look of genuine concern on her face. Rick sat up, and folded his arms over his chest.

"Dusty was dying. It…" He trailed off, "Usually it's Judy, just seeing her dying over and over, but today it was Dusty, and…I just can't…" A tear rolled down his cheek. Selina touched his hand softly. He met her eyes, seeing them filled with pain, and not what he would have expected.

"I know how you feel, Richard." She whispered. She paused, seemingly gathering her emotions; much like Dusty did; only Selina seemed less practiced. "Would it help if I sung you to sleep?" She asked softly, carefully.

Rick scrutinized her carefully before asking, "Do you think it will help?" His tone was suspicious. She smiled shortly, her teeth flashing white in the moonlight.

"Yes, I can sing. Now, lay down…" She began to sing Brahms' Lullaby softly, in a sweet soprano. Rick lay down again and closed his eyes. Feeling comforted in an odd way, he slowly slipped off into slumber.

Selina looked down at the sleeping child. She didn't know what possessed her to sing to him, she hadn't sung in years, but the pain and fear in his eyes pulled something deep inside of her, making her feel helpless, but with a pulling need to make him feel better, no matter what it took.

But what really bothered her was she was partially responsible for his nightmares. Not in deed, for fueling the nightmares with horrific events, but because she was part of the company that _was _directly responsible.

_Whether you partake in it, witness it, or are in part of a group who condones it, it warps you just the same._ Selina started. Justine's words came back to her. She tried to push them away, trying to flee the confusion that had erupted in her mind. The League was her life, the reason she was still a sane person with a sound mind. She owed everything to them, and was determined to repay them as best she could.

But would it destroy her worse than she had been in danger of? Would the price of her salvation be her soul?

* * *

Questions. Questions without answers. Selina crossed the room away from the younger Grayson sibling, and huddled with her questions, feeling utterly lost.

When Bruce woke up, Dusty was gone. He looked at the clock. It was nearly eight a.m. and the sun was streaming through the window in its early morning splendor. He looked around before seeing Dusty standing a short distance away, sipping a cup of hot chocolate and looking out the frost edged window looking sleek and fresh in new, clean clothes, her hair expertly twisted into a bun. She'd obviously been awake for a while.

He sat up and she turned to look at him, "You're awake. How did you sleep?" She asked. He stretched and stood, walking over beside her to look out the window at the incredible view.

"Very well, thank you. And yourself?" He asked. She smiled softly.

"Good. Well, after about ten or so." She said, smiling more fully, and then taking another sip of her hot chocolate. He put her arm around her shoulders.

"So have you had a chance to pull out your computer and make travel arrangements?" Bruce asked after a minute, his voice in an unconsciously lower tone. She nodded once.

"Li Wei, an old friend of mine here in Beijing, has chartered a small plane to fly us to the airport near the bottom of the mountain near the monastery, the one that you used when you came back to Gotham, tomorrow. From there we're on our own." She said, still staring out the window.

"We can deal with that," Bruce said, "We're both in top fighting condition, I doubt walking a few miles will make any difference. The cold might make it miserable, though." Dusty's expression hardened into determination.

"I can handle the cold. I know a few places we can camp as well. We should be fine barring someone coming and pushing us off a cliff." She said, a small smile breaking her hard exterior. Bruce smiled and pulled her into an embrace.

"Don't say that, someone might actually do it." He joked. She smiled softly. Then she looked up at him.

"Do you want me to call you up some breakfast, or do you want to go down to one of the restaurants downstairs?" She asked. He thought for a moment.

"I'm not sure I'm up to a spectacle of any proportion right now. Order up to your hearts content." He said, walking over to his suitcase and pulling some fresh clothes out. He walked into the bathroom, and Dusty turned back to the window, just relaxing and pondering the different travel arrangements, until she realized that she had stood in front of the window for almost ten minutes, and Bruce was going to come out any minute. She walked over to the telephone and ordered a standard breakfast before turning around and switching on the television. There wasn't anything very interesting, mainly news stations, but by the time the food came up, Bruce was out of the bathroom, and playing around with the flowers. Dusty had moved away from him when he had started sticking them in her hair, teasingly, of course, but not quite acquiescent enough to actually sit through it.

The day seemed to draw on forever. Luckily there was a chess set in their luggage (something Dusty didn't remember packing, but Bruce seemed to remember, strangely) and they sat at the table for hours, ribbing each other, as they played game after game of chess.

The next day dawned bright and early. Bruce and Dusty had packed the night before, and were out at the small private airport by eight in the morning. Li Wei was waiting for them with the pilot of the plane. Li Wei greeted Dusty with a kiss on each cheek. They both started conversing in rapid Chinese, before turning to Bruce.

"You got all that, right?" She asked. Bruce shook his head.

"Sorry, I wasn't listening." He said, shifting his bag to his other shoulder, and moving closer to Dusty, listening more carefully as Li Wei outlined the flight plan once again. It wasn't going to be more than a four-hour flight, but the minute Bruce saw the plane, there was a very powerful urge to go back to the hotel.

"Please tell me the color scheme is supposed to be white with rust colored spots." He said in her ear. She smiled painfully.

"I have a pilot's license. I suppose if we start to go down, there's an extra pilot on board who can help..." She said, trying not to grimace. Bruce turned to her.

"You have a pilot's license?" He asked. She nodded. He looked confused for a minute, "Wait, then why were you so bad while learning to use the…" He looked at Li Wei and the pilot for a moment, "wings." He whispered in her ear. She rolled her eyes and pulled her coat closer.

"Because using wings like a bird is _a lot_ harder to do than fly a box that's attached to them." She said, rubbing her arm where a fading bruise still remained. Then she thought of something. "Li Wei," she asked her friend, and then asked him about travel permits. He responded with a few short words in Chinese, and by handing her several sheaves of paper. Bruce's head came up.

"Travel Permits? What travel permits? I didn't have a travel permit last time," He said. Dusty's eyebrows rose.

"And you weren't arrested? Well, that probably shouldn't surprise me, considering who you were with. At any rate, we plan to stay off of the roads as much as possible, so unless the police follow us through the tundra, we shouldn't have many problems with it anyway." She said, putting the papers in her small bag that she had hanging from her shoulder. Li Wei asked if they were ready to leave. She nodded, and grabbed two of her huge duffle bags to fit into the airplane. Bruce followed her lead, and in time they fit the four large duffle bags full of everything they would need for a week and a half in the winter Tibetan tundra into the back of the very old Cessna.

"Good luck." Li Wei said in broken-sounding English. Dusty smiled, and gave him a hug, telling him goodbye. Bruce, like Dusty, also felt compelled to hug Li Wei goodbye. Not for any sentimental purposes, but to tell the truth, he felt rather attached to the last person in the outside world they would ever see before the crash-landed between here and the Himalayas. He resisted the urge. Then he climbed in the plane, with Dusty scooting the seat back toward his legs, climbing in herself, and then adjusting the plane's seat to her own height and leg length.

Together, she and the pilot checked the plane. Bruce couldn't help but see the rather pale look on Dusty's face as she did the pre-flight checks on the plane. This was going to be interesting, to be sure.

To be fair, the flight went perfectly fine. There were a few patches of turbulence that they went through that made Bruce want to bump his fear of bats to number two on his 'must be feared' list, but beyond that it seemed to be a sound little airplane. Dusty thought the same, though perhaps slightly more critical, having felt out the plane, and still not trusting it past what she'd paid for. And to tell the exact truth, she hadn't paid that much.

They landed in the small, isolated airstrip in the looming shadow of the Himalayas, about fifteen miles away from the monastery, with almost all of it being harsh terrain, almost impossible to cross with four heavy bags with nothing to help. It was obvious that they were going to have to do something about that. Maybe a donkey. Or a yak. It was definitely going to be fun to convince Bruce of this. Turning to the pilot, she handed him his promised payment, and a small tip. Then she asked him about a village nearby. He pointed in the opposite direction of the mountain, and told her about eight kilometers in that direction there was a large settlement, and a few smaller ones on the way. She nodded and bid him goodbye. He nodded and turned to fill up his plane with gas he brought along.

Dusty walked over to Bruce, who was checking that everything in their luggage was present, and pulling out various pieces of armor. Wordlessly she started pulling on her old League armor, already having the regular robe underneath her coat. The dragon etching over the shoulders of her armor glinted off the light that came through the clouds as she pulled the heavy breastplate over her head, and then strapped a ninjato onto her back, as well as securing different specialty weapons on her person. Or at least on the outside. The pilot hadn't known it, but she had been carrying over five different weapons secreted away on her person. Even now, she took the lacquered needles out of her bag, stuck them in her mouth, twisted her braid into a bun, and after taking a silver dragon bun cage and secured them all over and in her hair. Bruce stared at it for a moment.

"What?" She asked, after she'd turned around and found him staring at her.

"I've…seen those before." He said. He couldn't quite place where. She touched the silver in her hair and thought for a moment.

"I don't know, Bruce, I just can't remember whether I actually met you in full regalia at the monastery. They might have tried to keep us apart for all I know. And they were handed down to me." She said, shrugging.

"That must have been it." He said, shaking it off. She shrugged, and being finished with putting on her armor, she grabbed one of the bags, threw it over her shoulder, and turned to the direction of the nearest town.

Bruce started, "Where are you going?" He asked. She turned around.

"I'm not carrying all of this stuff up the mountain on my own." She said, her face in a halfway humorous and halfway sarcastic expression. Then she turned and continued on, not waiting for Bruce to catch up.

* * *

Montague looked through the binoculars. He could see Wayne and his wife walking away from the mountains, probably to the villages for something or other that they needed. He paused, looking at Kyle through the corner of his eye. She'd been quiet for the past two days, and quite jumpy when anyone would talk to her. Watson would soon have a talk with her. He'd told Montague to send Kyle into his office as soon as they were back from the reconnaissance trip.

Snow swirled about their heads, blowing Kyle's hair away from her face, and revealing a troubled and faraway expression. "Kyle?" He asked. She jumped and turned to him, her dark eyes wide.

"Yes?" She asked. His eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure her out.

"Is something wrong?" He asked. All of a sudden, it was as if a wall had dropped over her. Her expression turned to normal, even a little bit pleasant. It reminded him eerily of Grayson – both of them.

"No." She responded, starting to pack up her reconnaissance gear, the wind teasing her hair more, causing her to catch it all, and knot it into a bun at the back of her head. She turned to look at him again when his look did not falter, "Why, did you feel there was something wrong?" Slowly he shook his head, and then put his binoculars back in his pack, all the while being silent. Still wary, she nodded in return, and went back to her business.

_Curious,_ Montague thought. _Very curious.

* * *

_

Well! Thanks to motherduckatschool, suchicken, and Siriusly-a-princess for reviewing!

Also, thanks to Bryt for beta-ing!

Until next week!

_~Sabre_


	37. Chapter Thirty Six: Avalanche

Well, here you go! Sorry it's a bit late - I've had a bit of a hectic day...

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Six

"No way." Bruce said. Dusty held the large animal's head and gave him the puppy dog eyes.

"Please?" She asked, her voice pleading.

"Dusty, you said something to carry our bags. How could that thing carry _anything_?" He asked, gesturing to it.

"It's called a saddle. And the 'thing' you're referring to is called a yak." Dusty said, patting its large sable colored head, "And his name is Oscar."

"You've _named_ it?" He said, trying not to let his tone get out of hand, and failing miserably. He sighed in exasperation, "Well, I suppose I'll have to buy him now." Dusty smiled and stroked Oscar's nose.

"Good." She said, looking at the yak lovingly. Bruce rolled his eyes.

"Remind me again why I can't get you to look at me like that?" He asked. She smiled teasingly at him.

"Maybe if you had a bigger head and had long soft hair?" She said innocently as he paid for the large animal. He smiled grudgingly and put his arm around her shoulder.

"Maybe next time." He said, making his way toward the place where they'd secreted their things until they'd found something to carry them. It took them a few minutes for them to figure out the saddle, or series of hooks for them to tie their bags to, but in less than ten minutes they were ready to head for the mountains. They left town (incidentally the first one they'd come across) and started walking, Oscar in tow, to the mountains.

* * *

The trip was much longer than Dusty remembered. Bruce was also in doubt as to whether his memory served as well as it used to. Oscar seemed to be content to just meander behind them as they moved up the mountain, being careful to avoid known crevasses and to rest every once in a while. They were resting in one of the many caves that Dusty had mapped out for the League in her tenure when she started to ring. Dusty seemed confused for a moment, before remembering about her cell phone and pulling it out. She looked at the cover for a moment before opening it up and answering.

"Hello?" She said tentatively into the mouthpiece.

"Ah, Justine, how are you today?" Her face paled more quickly than if her face had been dunked in white paint.

"Watson?" Bruce was immediately on the alert. Dusty listened walked over toting to come out any minute. ntil she realized that she had stood in front of the window for almost ten minutequietly, the unease clearly painted on her face, though when she spoke, her voice was calmer than he had ever heard her. "I want to talk to Richard." She said, her voice soft. Her eyes got wide, and she turned to Bruce, "Paper. Now." She said. By some miracle, he was able to produce some from the deep recesses of one of the bags, and quickly handed it to her, where she started to jot things down in shorthand. After she was done, she thrust the paper into her bag, and then started to talk, "Watson, let me talk to Richard. Watson-" She sighed and closed her phone with a noise of disgust.

Bruce looked up at her. Her expression was hard, "I swear someday I will kill him." She said. She stood up and walked toward Oscar. The yak backed up a little bit before she put out a hand to calm him. Then the large animal grunted and nudged her. She ran her fingers through his soft hair and tried to calm himself. The yak nudged her with his head again, and her expression softened. Bruce just watched her, watching the unusual pair. She sighed, "I'm sorry, Bruce. The words were harshly spoken. He just…enjoys seeing me lose control. And I do it often." She said, never turning toward him the entirety of the time she spoke to him.

"If it helps, Dusty, I know how you feel." He said softly. He wasn't sure what to say at the moment, but he knew he had to say something. She smiled slightly.

"It does, Bruce. Believe me, it does." She said. He focused on the paper she hadn't let go.

"What's that?" He asked. She looked down at it with mixed emotions.

"Watson's location. In code, of course. And, of course, it has to be in riddle form." She said, holding the paper tightly. Bruce stood, coming to stand a few feet away.

"What does it say?" He asked. She looked down at the paper gripped tightly in her hand. She brought it up to within her sight range and began to speak.

"_The path of the old,_

_Meets the road of the new_

_Soon you'll be looking for not one but two_

_High up the mountains,_

_Snow in your eyes_

_Come find your treasure_

_But beware the surprise. _Is that not the most aggravating thing you've ever heard?" She said, thrusting the paper at him with more force than was strictly necessary. He took it and looked at it, studying the contents carefully. Finally he spoke.

"Path of the old… high up the mountains… snow… They're talking about the monastery, Dusty." He said, "We need to keep moving up. Load up Oscar, we need to get moving." When she didn't move he spoke her name. Then, staring out the mouth of the cave, she spoke, never taking her eyes off the distant mountain.

"They said 'road of the new', Bruce. If we don't find him, they're going to start training Rick, and even though I realize the need for him to protect himself, I _don't_ want him to be trained. Not from them." Bruce put his hand on Dusty's shoulder.

"Then I suggest we get moving. We still have about a six-hour hike before we get there, and we should get there before dark to avoid any confrontations or ambushes. And you should stay hidden." He said.

"Why?" She said, her voice defensive. He sighed, picking up a bag and settling it onto Oscar's back.

"Because these men are out to kill you -" Dusty scoffed.

"I was told punished, Bruce. They're trying to prove a point to me, and I don't think they're going to kill me to make it." She said. He gave her a scathing look.

"Don't interrupt. I've been in contact with the police since day one, Dusty. They've been getting threatening messages about you ever since your apartment blew up. Not one of them have been all love notes and roses, either. They've threatened to invade Gotham if you didn't give yourself up, and have tried multiple times to threaten and lure you into a position that they could kill you. Don't try to deny it, Dusty, they're out for your blood, and they won't stop until they get it." She tried to scoff, but it was more of a strangled noise, as the logic of her husband's words set in. Bruce could understand what she was feeling – there was nothing in world more hopeless and disheartening as the realization that one personally can do practically nothing to help those who were most precious to them.

She took a deep breath and held it, before letting it out with a suppressed sigh. "What can I do? All I have done is endangered those around me with more effectiveness than if I'd actually been trying. What can I do besides trying to make it right?" She asked. Bruce put a hand on her shoulder.

"Whatever you can, as long as you take care of yourself in the process."

* * *

They moved out after they finished loading up the yak. It was a cold and blustery walk over the frozen, blindingly white mountain. The only one who didn't seem affected by the chilling wind and mid-November weather was Oscar, but Dusty thought this was only because he couldn't talk. Bruce led their group, remembering the way even through the disguise of wintertime. Dusty followed, leading Oscar, who seemed to take the hike with almost a cheerful attitude. Whatever it was, it made Dusty feel better. _Oh come on, Dusty_, she scoffed to herself_, you've had a whole myriad of pets over your lifetime, and the one you connect most with is a _yak_?_ Then she laughed and patted Oscar's nose.

Bruce didn't hear, but continued on. They were almost to the pass that led up to the village, and then the monastery when Bruce called Dusty up short.

"Call Watson." He told her.

"Why?" She asked, pulling her scarf further up the bridge of her nose. The cold air had gotten frigid in the lowering sun, it's warmth long since gone, and Dusty was pretty sure it was pushing twenty degrees below zero. Fahrenheit or Celsius didn't matter. Bruce grimaced behind his scarf as the freezing air made his mouth go dry. There was a reason he lived in nice, (more) temperate Gotham.

"I want to know if he has any traps set up for us. There's an alternate route that we can take if there is." Dusty tried to digest this information as best she could. The creeping terror that was edging itself into her mind didn't help her next statement.

"So you want me to ask him whether he has any traps set up for us?" She asked. He tried not to get impatient.

"No…just ask him which way we should go. If he tells us to go on the passage, then we'll go on the back way, and vice versa." She thought for a moment.

"What if he says we could go either way?" She asked, the nervousness giving way to nausea.

"Well, then we'll play our cards very carefully. But we have to get Rick, Dusty."

"You don't have to remind me." She said testily. Then she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, walking over to Oscar, and used his warmth as a shield as she pulled her right glove up, her hood down, and selected Watson's number out of her contact list.

"Hello?" His eloquent voice answered.

"Watson?" She asked.

"Ah, Mrs. Wayne." He said pleasantly, "What service might I render you?" She swallowed.

"We're in the valley. Which path should we take?" She asked, trying not to cough in the dry air.

"Either one. I'm surprised, Justine. You rarely ever find things out so quickly. But then, of course, your husband helps a great deal, does he not.?" She tried not grit her teeth in hatred.

"He does." She said, forcing her feelings for Watson out of her voice. "Thank you for your information. See you later." She hung up the phone, and stuffed her hand back in her glove, trying to work feeling back into it.

"What did he say?" Bruce asked. Dusty sighed heavily.

"Either way." Bruce's breath hissed in, obviously displeased. Then he reached into one of the duffels and pulled out what looked like a sniper rifle.

"Bruce!" She said, alarmed not only at the sight of the gun – Bruce had always hated guns, and she remembered him distinctly telling her not to bring any – but that he looked like he fully intended to use it.

"Relax, it's a tranquillizer gun." He said, checking the chamber. Dusty caught sight of only two cartridges there.

"Do you have any more?" She said, adjusting her scarf higher up her nose and coughing from the dry air.

"No. I'll use them only if I absolutely have to." He said, clicking the barrel back in place and hanging the gun over his shoulder. She nodded, and turned picking up Oscar's lead.

"So which way are we going?" She asked. He looked back at her, and motioned toward the east side of the mountain.

"Around the back way." He said, "There are less places to hide, and there's fewer open areas." Dusty nodded. It made sense. Of course, she wasn't sure why she had designated Bruce the leader of their jolly threesome. Maybe it was just Dusty taking the 'follow him through trial and pain' thing too seriously. She knew it was a bad idea to leave in all the clichéd phrases in their vows. Next time…

She paused mentally, realizing this was the first time she had referred to a time when she and Bruce might not be together. Curiously, it didn't feel… right. She shook it off. _Mind in the present_, she reminded herself, _mind in the present_.

Yeah, right.

They snuck up the side passage, making as little noise as possible. Even Oscar was abnormally quiet. They crept through the mountain, coming short of jumping at shadows, and tried to avoid all overhangs and spaces where they could easily be picked off. They were on a trail between a sheer rock cliff jutting into the sky fifty yards and a decline in the rock, not more than ten degrees steep, but still dangerous were anyone go to over. Adding with the danger of being killed at any moment, the task was on par with disarming a bomb. Bruce kept his eyes sharp, on the ground and above them, trying to be aware of any danger that might be present.

What happened next caused Dusty to scream. An explosion twenty yards away erupted, sending a plume of smoke and snow into the sky, the tremor knocking Bruce off his feet and down the incline, which suddenly seemed steeper than Dusty remembered. Without a second thought, Dusty dove down the cliff after Bruce, catching his wrists as he turned around backward. He seemed to be in shock, but quickly shook himself out of it as they slid closer and closer to the edge. Dusty's mind flew into overdrive, and she dug the toes of her shoes into the snow. They immediately started to slow, but as she looked past Bruce, she knew it wasn't going to be enough.

Bruce was first over the cliff, desperately trying to slow their descent, but not quite succeeding. He was about to tell her to let go when they came to a halt. Dusty had slid half over the edge, her upper torso hanging over the edge precariously, leaving her arms to take the brunt of Bruce's weight. She was already shaking under the strain. Bruce remembered, through experience, that she was strong, but not strong enough to pull two hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight up and over a cliff. Even with help he didn't think it would be enough.

"Bruce, I'm going to fall!" Dusty screamed, her proclamation bouncing off the sides of the snow-covered canyon. Her grip tightened around Bruce's wrists, and she tried her best to keep them from sliding all the way over the edge.

"Dusty, don't panic, you're not going to fall." He said soothingly, trying to take all of the fear out of his voice. There wasn't much else. He knew as well as she did that his weight would eventually carry them both over the edge, unless she could somehow pull them up. Dusty closed her eyes, calming herself, and when she opened her eyes, he could see the calmness that he admired taking over behind her dark green irises.

Calmly, she opened her mouth, "You do realize we're probably going to die?" She said, deadly serious. Bruce adjusted his grip and came up with an idea. Ignoring her previous comment, he looked at her intensely.

"Dusty, dig your feet into the snow."

"What do you think I'm doing?" She gritted her teeth as she shifted her grip slightly. "It's the only thing that's saving our heavily-clad cabooses right now."

"Ok, do you think you have a pretty good grip on the ground?" Dusty shook her head empathetically. Bruce looked down, suddenly unsure, then regretted it at the sight of the thirty-five foot fall beneath him. Then he shook himself. There was no choice. Again he felt Dusty's arms shaking under the pull of his weight.

"Dusty, when I count to three, I'm going to grab your elbows, one at time, okay?" Her eyes widened. He continued. "Try to pull up with your upper body. It should help somewhat." He said. "Ready?"

Dusty visibly swallowed, her face lightening several shades in the ever-so-slightly dimming light, but then nodded.

"Ready?" He repeated, grunting, choosing to ignore the shaking of Dusty's arms.

"Just go!" She grit out, her voice filled with pain.

"One…Two…Three!" He said, pulling himself up to hang on above Dusty's elbows. She gasped in pain, and dug her toes into the snow deeper. Bruce paused. "Dusty, are you alright?"

"No." She whispered, a crystalline tear running down the end of her nose. "It really hurts." She said, clenching her teeth.

"Just a few minutes more, Dusty, that's all I ask. When I go up, I'm going to grab your shoulders. Take a hold under my arms, all right? One…Two -"

"Bruce! Wait! No!" She screamed, sliding forward. Lunging forward, he grabbed onto the ledge. Dusty grabbed onto Bruce's shoulders and swung down. Now they were both hanging precariously on the cold stone edge. Dusty was breathing hard, and trying not to let the pain in her shoulders distract her or make her let go.

"Are you all right?" Bruce asked, once her breathing calmed. She didn't know. In every other way but her shoulders, she was fine, but her shoulders were enough to make her pause.

"My shoulders are killing me." She finally gathered enough control to say, but her voice was soft with a biting edge, and Bruce could tell that she couldn't hold on much longer.

"Do you think that you could climb up? You wouldn't have to help me up, but I can't climb up with you on my back." Her breath hitched.

"I'll try, Bruce." She whispered into his ear, the agony in her voice carrying through as clear as light through a magnifying glass.

"That's it. Okay, use my belt as a foothold. Put your right foot in there, and then use the ledge to pull yourself up." He said, there was a pause, and then she acknowledged. In an extreme effort, she pulled herself up on to the ledge, and then moved back so Bruce could pull himself up as well. In a matter of two minutes, not only was he up beside her, but also helping her to ease the pain in her shoulders.

"You'll be okay, Dusty. You'll be fine." He kissed the side of her head, "I am so proud of you." Dusty heaved for breath, coughing in the cold dry air and she tried to make the pain in her arms subside. Together, they stood, staggering slightly up the incline to where Oscar was a few yards away from where they left him, frightened slightly by the shouting.

Once they made it to the trail, they made sure Oscar was alright, and then headed back the way they came. There were caves near the main pass that they needed to go through, and it was ideal place to spend the night. Cold, tired and frazzled, they hiked double time to the place they were to set up camp, and within minutes of arriving were set up, and huddled together against the back wall.

"Somehow, whenever I come to Tibet, I'm always cold, no matter when or what the temperature is." Dusty said, sipping her cold soup, happy at least for the much-wanted nourishment it gave. Bruce smiled. He leaned closer to her and then, after they finished their dinners, drifted off to sleep.

* * *

He awoke in confusion. Dusty was screaming, fighting off an invisible captor as she screamed for him to wake up and help her. He just couldn't seem to move. A blinding pain rocketed through his head, and everything seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his heart. Dusty's screaming was louder than before, more frantic. Everything was fading to black…

Dusty screamed louder after they had clubbed Bruce over the head. Even in the sporadic flashes of light, she could see blood trickling from his head onto the icy floor of the cave. Oscar was in a panic, torn between staying to help his masters and fleeing for his life. Dusty struggled against the men holding her, cursing her lack of strength for the second time in two days.

"Wayne!" A familiar musical voice brought her mind back into gear. She glared at Montague with every ounce of hatred that she held in her body. He glared back, "I'm afraid, my dear Mrs. Wayne, that you are not going to be Mrs. Wayne much longer." Her face paled and her eyes flashed down to where Bruce lay in the dim light. "In more ways than one, it seems." He continued. "Now tell me, Justine. Wouldn't you like to just…forget everything?" Panic triggered in the back of her mind at this question, as well as at the appearance of a hypodermic needle.

"No!" She whimpered, squirming away as Montague stepped over Bruce's fallen body and held it up to her face.

"Why not? Your brother in the hands of your worst enemy, your husband and parents dead…Again, why not?" Dusty was breathing hard, trying not to throw up or hyperventilate.

"I can't – I can't…" She said, sobbing dry tears, her heart thudding loudly in her ears.

"You can't what, Justine? You can't refuse? All right…" She had gone deathly still, the only thing seemingly moving was her heart, still crashing against the inside of her chest. Without any further delay, he pulled off her glove and stuck the needle in her wrist, depressing the syringe.

The effect was immediate. Her heart started to slow, her eyes started to droop, and everything took on a fuzzy haze in the dim pre-dawn hours. _I'm going to die_, she thought, her legs giving out from under her.

_I'm going to die.

* * *

_

Thanks to Serpentinia Malfoy, theotherbatman, Bryt, Siriusly-a-princess, and motherduckatschool for reviewing. I hope those who were at earlier chapters were able to make it all the way through...

Also, thanks to Bryt who read this over with me, even though it was almost midnight... You rock my slightly boring socks, girl!

Well, until next week!

~Sabre


	38. Chapter Thirty Seven: Uncertainty

I know it's a day early, but I just remembered I'd be out of town tomorrow... Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven

She awoke slowly, regaining her senses one by one, first feeling the cold, both from above and below, then her hearing, and then the darkness. Something was wrong. She opened her eyes.

"Justine? Oh, sweetheart, you're awake. I was so worried." She looked at the man who spoke in confusion. He was olive complexioned with dark hair and eyes, and she seemed to know him…but it was wrong.

"Who…" She trailed off. Her voice was hoarse, as if she had been shouting. He smiled kindly before coming over to sit by her. He stroked her hair.

"It's me, Bruce. You'll be all right. You passed out last night. I was worried that you weren't going to make it, but you'll be fine." Bruce? The name was again wrong. Everything about this man just reeked with lies and duplicity. She struggled to sit up. This man – Bruce – apparently meant no harm, and just because she didn't remember him didn't mean that he was evil.

Bruce helped her up, his hands lingering on her shoulders for longer than she thought necessary. Even after he let go, he nearly hovered over her, as if expecting for her to fall over. She felt like she would, but rather than having him catch her and feeling that horrid squeamish feeling again, she put her hand on the cold – freezing actually – ground to steady herself.

"Bruce," She said in her raspy voice, "Why did I pass out?" She continued, swallowing and looking around. "I can't remember anything. I didn't even recognize you," She said, shaking her head. A few details were coming back into her mind. She recognized her surroundings as Tibet, and she knew her name and her age. The large animal by the door was a yak, and his name was…Academy Awards? No, even she wouldn't name an animal something like that. Oscar! That was his name. She looked back at Bruce, and once again something struck her as wrong.

He answered her question with a little more hesitancy than she thought he needed to. It almost seemed like he was thinking of an excuse. "You hit your head. You slipped on some ice." She didn't feel like she'd hit her head. Her head ached to be sure, but it was more of a pressure on her mind than a physical wound.

She nodded, trying to sort everything out, still looking at Bruce with an intense look. His face melted into a slightly hurt look. "You don't believe me? Justine, please believe me. Why would I lie to you?" He'd come closer and closer while he spoke, and a breath after his last syllable, his lips touched hers. She responded gently, not sure why she felt so strange. It was almost a feeling of…betrayal. But against whom?

_Bruce._ Her mind supplied. But she was kissing Bruce, wasn't she? Her mind answered no. If this was not Bruce, then who was he? Visions of flirtatious glances in a classroom, and talking to him came back. His name wasn't Bruce. It was…Montague. Instantly, everything clicked into place. She thrust both of her hands into his chest, pushing him away with as much force as she could muster.

He wasn't Bruce. Bruce was dead. Pain lanced through her heart at the memories of the night before. "Murderer," She seethed, her breath becoming shaky and her senses sharpening to deadly precision, anger filling every particle of her. She saw the tranquilizer Bruce had had lying against the wall of the cave out of the corner of her eye. Montague didn't notice, being preoccupied with the fact that he now had an unrestrained, furious ninja in front of him, with him blocking the only exit.

"Wayne, if you'll listen to me," He said, a tremor in his voice, trying to buy time while he reached for his back with the back-up call in his bag. Dusty stood, backing away from him toward the gun.

"No. You killed my husband, Montague. And you were going to kill me too. You forget, I know how this works. I ran the scam a few times. I did it long before you ever did. Listen to me. You will get out of my way, or I can guarantee one of us is going to get hurt. You know who it will be? It will be you, Montague, and I can promise you that I will not feel _any_ remorse that I caused you any pain whatsoever," She said, her eyes and voice loaded with hate. He had almost reached his bag, and was fumbling with the catch behind his back.

"Justine, please I can explain. Watson – Watson's the one in charge. I'm just a pawn. I'm forced to do what he tells me."

"Be quiet. I know you Montague. You're more independent than a ram in late summer. The only time you'll ever take orders is if they meet your own ends," His face froze, and all emotion seemed to drain into the dirt. When he spoke next, his voice had changed into a flat, deadly tone.

"Justine, you and I both know that you have to go through me to get out of the cave, and that you have no way-" Dusty didn't wait for him to finish, drawing the gun from behind her and shooting him in the chest with both tranquilizer darts.

He convulsed and fell to the ground, his hand around the radio, but never having reached the button. "Sorry, Paul," She said as she stepped over him, "But I don't see how I have a problem with that." With that, she picked up the rest of her belongings, and after she had attached them to Oscar, left the cave.

* * *

It took her a while to get back to civilization. She ignored what she had just endured, choosing to keep her sanity until she was somewhere were she could unload her emotions in no danger. She pulled Oscar along as fast as he was willing to move, calling Li Wei and telling him to get the plane to the airstrip as fast as he could. She also called another friend in Beijing to get someone to ship Oscar in premium deluxe conditions to Gotham. There was no way she was going to leave her favorite animal in Tibet.

Once the plane arrived, and she had left Oscar in the care of his former owner, with instructions to hand him over to the official who was coming for him, she loaded all of her baggage in with amazing technique and speed, and was ready before the pilot, whose name she still hadn't found out, had finished checking the plane. She helped him finish all the procedures, before climbing into the plane and starting it without the pilot's help. She automatically went through all the procedures in her head, checking the gauges before letting the pilot take over. He gave her look that was a cross between concern and contempt, and then taking the plane down the airstrip into the sky.

Dusty watched the ground shrink as they rose in altitude. She had gone to look for Bruce, but he was nowhere to be found. The only thing that remained in the cave where they had been captured was a smear of blood where he had lain. She had to face it. Bruce was gone forever. And Alfred would most likely put her out of her misery once she told him.

"Where is the man?" The pilot asked. She turned to him, and then focused on the windshield.

"He went on ahead," She said, trying not to sound too emotional. She did well, drawing from her training, and the fact that she still hadn't really digested the information as well as she could have. The pilot nodded, probably thinking that he had just headed to Beijing before Dusty. Dusty let him think what he wanted, not wanting to go into the details, which still frightened her more than anything else.

She was on her way to the hotel when Watson called, "Hello?" She said, trying not to let her voice transmit the resentment she felt toward him at the moment.

"What did you do to Montague?" He shouted. Dusty held the phone away from her ear in shock. The only time he had been remotely as angry, was when she had attempted to kill him. At the moment the only thing that explained his getting angry was that she had slipped through his clutches. Again. Frankly speaking, Watson did value his people, but if they were injured through their own folly, he was less than sympathetic.

"I only put him to sleep for a while. Let him rest, I'm sure he'll wake up," Actually, Dusty wasn't really sure, but her heart was too numb to really care if he woke up or not. A life for a life. It only made sense. She ignored the feelings of discomfort that ran through her at that thought, focusing only on the pain.

"Justine, you are walking on thin ice. My patience is running out. I want to see you in Tokyo on the second of December, or I promise that you will not see your brother ever again."

"Why?" She said, her voice cracked. There was silence on the line.

"Fine. If you won't come to a set place, then I will let you figure out my next location. _Sleepless you'll find_

_ In a stormy mind_

_ Warmth in your hand_

_ Though wet and cold always stands_

_ Follow the yellow brick road_

_ And soon you'll know,_

_ Where I will be _

_ Soon."_

Dusty growled in frustration and cut the line, wondering if he specifically thought it up in rhyme to spite her. She quickly took out her notebook and wrote down the clues. She studied them until she got to the Marriott. She walked up to her room - they had never bothered to check out - and then focused on the task at hand. She looked at the poem, staring at it blankly. Her mind wandered to how quickly Bruce had solved it the last time.

Immediately tears sprang to her eyes. Uncontrollable sobs seemed to erupt from her as she tried to keep them from coming. He was just gone. Her best friend. The one who had taught her, however inadvertently, to be human again. Gone. Just like her parents.

At this memory, she sobbed even harder, the grief of her parent's death, somehow never really mourned, crashing down on her like a million bricks. She sobbed and sobbed, trying to stop, only for them to intensify all over again when the truth hit her again and again. Then, as she cried, slowly, bit-by-bit, she fell asleep.

* * *

She dreamed of Oz, of all things. She'd only ever watched the Wizard of Oz once, and after being traumatized at age six, she'd never had the inclination to see it again. She and Bruce were skipping along the Yellow Brick Road, singing Zippidee-Do-Dah when Bruce suddenly stopped.

"Dusty, where are you?" He asked, looking around, and at times straight through her. She stepped forward, and spoke.

"Bruce, here I am. I'm right here," She tried to reach out for him, almost touching his worn brown coat when suddenly he turned away.

"I don't know you," He said, the harsh, gravelly tones of his Batman coming out. "You didn't come for me." His appearance started to change. Dusty started to back away out of fear.

"Bruce, I did. I promise I did. You weren't there! They'd taken you away!" She pleaded. He turned to her, now with a lightly wrinkled face, grey hair sweeping through his now light brown hair. Bruce had turned into Watson before her very eyes. He stepped toward her, his eyes an icy cold blue.

"You left him. You left him to die. You didn't help him when you could."

"No! NO!" She screamed, trying to cover her ears. She couldn't seem to do it, her hands and arms felt like they were encased in cement. Bruce/Watson looked at her hatefully for a few minutes and then smiled blissfully.

"Follow me to Emerald City," He said, then turned and walked down the yellow brick road, as if nothing ever happened, changing back into Bruce as he went.

Dusty woke with a start.

"Emerald City," She whispered to herself, "Emerald City." She grabbed her laptop and opened her internet browser, typing in Emerald City. Wikipedia, as dubious a source as it was, had an article. She pressed on it, and was about to click back into the browser – it was an article on the place in Oz – when the word disambiguation caught her eye. She clicked on it.

"The nickname of…" She looked down. Her eyes rested on Seattle, Washington, clicking on it, she only had to read the preface to the article, before things started to click into place. Sleepless in Seattle was one of the movies she'd watched with Rachel and Sana on the night before her wedding. Stormy mind, and wet and cold could both refer to the fact that it was one of the wettest places on earth. Warmth in her hand…Seattle was the coffee capital of the world.

Say hello, America. She picked up her phone, dialing the number of a well-trusted travel agent.

"Hello, Sam McKerra," A feminine voice came from the other end of the line. Dusty immediately spoke.

"Sam, this is Dusty Grayson. Hey I need to call in that favor I talked to you about in Manhattan," She said, holding close to her ear as she looked through the various flights that were heading out of Beijing.

"Speak, Dusty. It was a tight spot you got me out of," Sam said, seeming to shift in her seat.

"I need you to get me on the next flight available from Beijing to Seattle. I don't care if you have to charter it, and I don't care about cost. Get me a plane, and get me on it within four hours." Dusty said, pacing back and forth from the bed to the couches on the far wall.

Sam clicked a few buttons on the other end of the line. "There's one that leaves in…an hour your time. But you're not going to get there on time with Beijing traffic going against you. I'm chartering you a flight that leaves when you get there." Sam paused, Dusty paused also, wondering what Sam was going to say. "Dusty, what's going on? What are you doing in Beijing? Why is getting to Seattle so important?" Dusty paused, suddenly trying not to cry.

"It's…" She cleared her throat. "It's difficult to explain. My brother's there, and he's in a spot of trouble." She said, thinking fast. Sam sounded uncertain.

"If you're sure." Dusty nodded before she remembered she was talking on a phone.

"I am." She reaffirmed, trying to convince herself of the same thing. Sam then told her the plane and the landing strip before saying goodbye.

"Call me if you need anything. That favor in Manhattan was worth at least another two favors," She said.

"I'll do that. Thank you," Dusty said, and they both disconnected. Then she turned to her bags.

She was packed and checked out in less than ten minutes.

The drive to the airport was nerve racking. She wasn't on any sort of deadline, but the possibility that she might not get out of the country was putting her on edge. She made it to the airport in fairly good time, and was escorted to her plane. Sam had done her job well, and the plane was sleek private jet. Dusty knew she would be the one paying but since it would help her get to Rick faster and in more comfortable conditions than she'd thought, it was more than alright with her.

She loaded her stuff in the plane and took her seat as they did the pre-flight check, and fastened her seatbelt when the intercom came on to tell her that they were going to take off. Then relaxing against the seatback, the plane screamed into the sky.

* * *

Thanks to motherduckatschool, GreenPurpleBlack (thank you!), suchicken, and Serpentinia Malfoy.

Also, thanks to Bryt, even though she's busy right now and can't read through the chapter...

Until next week - I may update on Friday again, because Saturday's quite busy again, and since we're into Summer now, I'll update when I can...but yeah.

Bye!

~Sabre


	39. Chapter Thirty Eight: Flight

Again, I'm going to be unavailable this Saturday, so here I am, updating a day early. Now that we're into summer, my updates will be a bit more sporadic, but I hope I'll be able to keep it up. However, I do ask your forgiveness if I'm unable to.

Now, please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight

They landed in Seattle a day earlier. Dusty cursed jet Lag and the international date line, and headed to the nearest Marriott, grateful that it wasn't necessary for her to go through security on the way _out_ of the airport. Not only would her arsenal have raised eyebrows, it would probably have earned her a night in jail. Or more. One could never be too certain, but she wasn't about to take the chance.

Once she was settled in her hotel room, she immediately pulled out her laptop and started up her internet browser, getting to work calling contacts she knew a few years ago to help her find out League hotspots in the area. To her consternation she found that none of her contacts were still valid, and amongst other things, they were only leading her in circles. Which meant that Watson had gotten to them first.

She sighed and then took a piece of paper and a pencil, trying to remember all of the different places on her own.

Her phone rang. She looked down at it, and read the caller ID. It was Watson. She shouldn't have been surprised. She picked up her phone and answered it. "What?" She snapped.

"Dusty?" A small voice spoke. She sat up straight, her heart suddenly thudding loudly against her chest. She knew that voice very well.

"Rick? Where are you, are you alright?" She said before she could force herself to be quiet and listen to what he had to say. She knew that he probably had minimal time.

"I'm not sure where I am, Dusty, but I was calling to tell you that I'm okay. Montague's okay too, but I'm calling about Selina." His voice was quiet and hurried, as if he was on constant watch for anything out of the ordinary.

"Selina? Selina Kyle? Why?" Dusty's forehead creased. Why would he need to call about Selina? Unless she was in some kind of trouble, and even then, why would he care? She settled back against the cushy chair, trying to figure out what he was getting at.

"I think she's thinking about defecting, Dusty. She was the one who got me Watson's cell phone. I think she wants a way out. Promise me, if you get me out, try to get her out too."

Dusty's mouth opened and closed. She didn't know what to do. She was no tactical genius, that was Bruce's department, and even if she were to get them both out alive, how was she going to keep them both safe for the rest of their lives? Watson would be out for Selina's blood as much as he was out for Dusty's. Nevertheless, she spoke into the mouthpiece, trying to sound as reassuring as she possibly could, "I'll try, Rick. I can't promise I'll be able to, but I promise, if that's really her intent, I'll try."

"Thanks." He paused, and Dusty heard echoic footprints through the earpiece. Rick made some sort of scuffing noise, as if his clothing scraped against a rough cement wall. "I've got to go, Dusty, someone's coming. Tell Bruce I said hi. Love you."

"Love you," She said quickly, but barely before there was a click and a hum as Rick cut the connection. Looking at the phone in her hand, she sighed and closed her eyes, trying to forestall the pain that was surfacing in her heart, before she closed the lid of her phone.

* * *

Rick hid the cellphone under his jacket as the door swung open. Selina was shoved in the door, Watson in tow, his hand gripped around her upper arm. Selina was chalky white, blood tricking down her neck from an unknown spot on her head, whereas Watson looked livid. Shoving Selina away from him toward the back of the cell. She hit the back wall, barely cushioning the collision with her arms, before sliding to the ground. Watson held his hand out to Rick.

"My phone, Richard, if you please," He growled. Rick adopted a look of innocently interested.

"Is your phone missing?" He asked, tucking the phone in the back part of the waistband of his jeans before standing and linking his empty hands in front of him. Selina looked at him, fear clear in her eyes, while Watson gave him a leveling glare.

"I am in no mood to play games, Richard. I need that phone back," Watson said, his tone softening, but only so much. There were no games being played here. Richard calmly looked between Selina and Watson.

"Why do you assume I have it?" He asked. Watson's look softened only a touch.

"Do you have it?"

"Why do you assume that I would?" He asked again, his voice very calm and businesslike. Watson growled under his breath.

"Mr. Grayson, I am in no mood to play word games with an eleven year old child." He said, marching up to Rick. "Do you have my phone, and if you do, give it to me _now_!"

Rick's facial expression shifted slightly to mild boredom, "If you think I cannot think for myself because of my age, I would suggest going back to teaching, Mr. Watson. However, I would like to know why you would assume that I have your phone."

Watson turned away, almost shaking with anger before he turned and answered, "Because you are the only one on the premises who would need that particular phone to call a certain loved one that we are all aware of."

Rick thought about this for a moment, "That is a valid concern, but really if I wanted to talk to Selina, all I would have to do is start speaking. Most of the time she is the one watching me, you know." It was the last straw. A fierce animal-like expression flashed across Watson's face like lightning, and he struck Rick to the ground, the cell phone skittering out of Rick's belt to rest along the wall. Richard lay on the ground, trying not to cry from the sting of Watson's powerful backhanded swing, and aching from the velocity with which he hit the ground. Touching his face where Watson hit him, Rick knew it would probably bruise.

Dusty wouldn't be happy. Watson wasn't either. He leaned down and picked up his phone, tucking it away in his suit jacket pocket. He looked at Selina, a disgusted, horrifying look, and then walked toward the door. Before he shut it in both of their faces, he gave Selina one last look that could have killed.

"I'll deal with you later," He seethed to her, then shut the door with a clang, leaving them both in the darkness.

* * *

Dusty leaned forward against the back of the park bench overlooking Elliot Bay, the cold wind blowing against her face, though not nearly as hard or as cold as in the Himalayas. She wore a heavy jacket, but that was all that protected her against the elements. She was exhausted. The jet lag and the frustration at not finding her brother on her own for a full five days was weighing down on her, and to tell the truth, she was just about to break. Finally, after sitting there for almost fifteen minutes, she couldn't take it anymore, and she fished her cell phone out of her pocket, hitting the number six on speed dial.

"Watson!" Dusty said into her phone as soon he picked up. The cold Seattle air blew through her hair, but also seemed to blow right into her, chilling her to the bone. "I've had enough," She said, not waiting for him to answer, "I promise you, I will be at the Courtyard Marriott at nine tomorrow evening. You can come pick me up."

"Now, now, Justine. It's not that simple, is it? I would have expected a daring escape or rescue planned." His voice was mocking over the phone, though with an undercurrent of anger, and Dusty resisted throwing her cell phone into the harbor. She swallowed her own anger and sighed.

"I can't do this anymore, Watson," Tears tried to creep past her stony exterior. She pushed them away forcefully. "I will do whatever it takes to get Rick safely home," She said, admitting her one remaining weakness, the one that both she and Watson had known all along, yet the one that Watson hadn't fully exploited yet, "Providing you send him back to Alfred."

Watson was silent for a moment. "Be there," He said. His voice was quiet, but a silent threat hung in the air between the two. Dusty swallowed, hoping that she hadn't signed her own death warrant.

"I will." She said. Flipping the phone closed, she leaned against the wall behind her, looking out to sea, trying not to cry. The wind blew against her face, as if helping forestall the tears.

"Hey, pretty lady, what's wrong?" A low voice penetrated her dark thoughts. She glanced over to see a tall man seat himself on the bench nearest to her, about four feet away. She sighed, looking back out to sea, shivering in the early December air.

"Nothing," She said, her jaw line set firmly. The man shook his head.

"I don't know. Whoever was on the phone sure got your goat somehow," Dusty laughed once, a harsh sound with a sardonic ring to it. Then, as if she'd surprised herself with such a harsh noise, she looked down at her hands.

"You might say that," She conceded. "Life's kind of rough right now," She said, the last few words shaking, the tears that were already borderline were surging forward, begging to take control. The man stood, keeping his distance, but obviously not walking away.

"How so?" She looked up at the man, painfully realizing that he was about the same height and build as Bruce. She looked down. It would do no good to dwell on it, and probably would make her feel worse than she already did. Then she answered the man, deciding that she really had nothing to lose. Her brother was gone, her husband was dead, and her only friends were unable to help her in any way.

"My husband…was killed a week ago, my brother is in the hands of my worst enemy, and the same man is probably going to kill me in the next forty-eight hours," The man shifted.

"That's a hard load to haul. But…your husband, did you see him die?" He asked. The question surprised her, and she looked up to see the stranger look at her with an intense gaze. A gaze that she knew very well.

"Bruce," She whispered, her heart going from heavy to light in a matter of milliseconds. He held out one hand to her, and she ran to him, throwing her arms around him, tears of sudden inexpressible joy running down her face. Holding Dusty close, a tear ran down Bruce's own face. He couldn't seem to describe the pain in his heart, which almost seemed to match the pain in his head, as he had watched his wife, alone and disheartened, agreeing to go to what would, almost certainly, be her death.

He pulled back slightly, and gently took her tear-streaked face in his hands, speaking to her as well as to himself. "I found you, Dusty. I'm so glad I did. I was so worried for you," He whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, "I promise, I will never leave you again." With that, he leaned forward and kissed her.

* * *

Montague stirred, a chalky, unfamiliar taste on his tongue bringing him into awareness. It was the third day in a row, and the taste was starting to give him a sick feeling to his stomach. The next time he saw Mrs. Wayne, he was going to give her the dubious honor of a knife in the back. Her tranquilizer dart had put him out for a full four days, and the only reason he was alive was someone had had the decency to check on him in cave to make sure he was still alive.

A day later. He still had a violent cold, and the coughing and sneezing made everything seem as bleak as a firing squad. He had just sat up on his bunk when Watson walked in, his face bearing an expression as close to a smile as he ever got.

"I have good news, Paul," He said, "Mrs. Justine Wayne has graciously accepted our invitation." Montague's eyebrows lifted.

"Did she? Under what stipulations?" Watson genuinely smirked. He was definitely in a good mood, something that was not usual these days, mostly due to the Grayson siblings.

"Only that we send Mr. Grayson back to her trusty butler. A stipulation that I have managed to avoid committing to, luckily," He said. Montague slightly tilted his head to the side, trying not to incite the angry kazoos to strike up a chorus.

"Why?"

Watson turned and gave Montague a condescending look; "You're asking me about why we should keep a Grayson sibling. Troublesome, yes; complex, yes; morally founded, yes; but geniuses also, and the younger sibling will be just as easy to incite as the elder. All it would take to decieve them is a few magic tricks." Watson turned away. "Are you with me, Paul?"

Montague stood, the buzzing in his head erupting. Nevertheless, he nodded, "I am with you."

* * *

Bruce fidgeted under Dusty's hands. Frustrated, she put both hands forcefully on Bruce's shoulders and pressed down.

"Bruce, Sit _still_!" She said in a forbidding tone. With what was obviously great effort on his part, he forced himself to stop moving. She went back to changing the bandage on the back of Bruce's head. He'd gotten medical treatment when he'd first come to Seattle five days ago, and had had a concussion, but thankfully no stitches were needed. He'd actually secretly tapped into Dusty's phone some time before this whole fiasco, and therefore knew where she had already gone, and where to go as well. As much as she would have resented it otherwise at the time, as of right now she didn't really care. She softened her voice, "Sorry, Bruce. The past few days haven't been all that great."

He reached up and touched her hand. "It's all right. They've been terrible for me too." She smiled, holding back tears, this time of some bittersweet emotion, and finished applying the dressing. Then she sat down beside him.

Bruce put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "And now I'm probably going to die in the next few days," She whispered. He pulled her closer. Dusty drank in his presence, really feeling another's presence for the first time in almost a week.

"Not unless we can help it," Bruce whispered in her ear. She pulled away slightly.

"What do you mean?" She asked, looking him straight in the eyes. He smiled.

"You like to drive fast, right?"

* * *

Watson paced across the lobby of the Courtyard Marriott hotel, impatiently looking at his clock every five seconds or so. It was five minutes to nine. Rick looked at Watson nervously. The young boy had a smattering of black and blue across his cheek from where Watson had struck him five days before, but for the most part it had faded. He was tired, and was anxious to see Dusty after almost six weeks. Hearing her voice had only seemed to intensify his feelings of homesickness for her, though he would never let Watson know it.

Selina wasn't there. She was still in the cold dark cell that they'd pulled Rick out of almost an hour ago, saying they had a meeting to go to. He'd learned why on the way to the hotel. Now he was looking around carefully, trying to get any sight of her he could.

Then, suddenly, he saw her. She was dressed in a neat black get-up, sitting in the hotel restaurant. She looked like she was getting ready to pay, when she locked eyes with Rick. Relief overwhelmed her features, and a smile came over her face. Then she stood up, her eyes telling Rick that it was time for him to look away.

He obediently looked down, just as Watson cast an impatient glare over him. It only lasted for a moment until he saw Dusty walking calmly toward them. She stopped five feet away from him, her pose innocent and unassuming.

"Are you ready, then?" Watson asked. Dusty gave him a small smile.

"Very. Might I say goodbye to my brother first?" She asked, her expression calm, and a bit resigned – what one would expect from a woman in her position. Watson nodded. Off to Watson's right she noticed a very familiar looking bespectacled man with a slightly angular face in a neat suit and tie. With a jolt she barely hid, she realized who it was. Dr. Crane. Rick's expression grew concerned at her words.

"You're going away?" He asked, his eyes grew wide with fear and hurt. She looked down, seeming to gather herself together.

"Yes, Rick. I need to go. But I'll miss you. And I love you." She said. His heart almost split with the hurt.

"But you can't go!" He said. She went down onto one knee in front of him. She gave him the calmest look he'd ever seen from her. Then she drew him into a hug. Then she whispered into his ear, as if whispering a few last parting words. Then…

"Hold on tight, brother, because we need to run!" With that she scooped him up and bolted for the front doors of the hotel. It was difficult to stay ahead - Rick wasn't exactly a lightweight, and there far more customers than Dusty had thought there would be at nine at night. When they were in under twenty-five feet of the doors, Rick cried out, his back arching, pulling Dusty forward as his arms grasped at her neck. From where she could see, a dart stuck out of Rick's arm. Then, suddenly, Rick hunched forward, and within seconds, he was limp in her arms. Another dart whizzed by, barely missing Dusty.

"Get her!" She could hear Watson's commanding voice shout to his minions. Like hound dogs, they were all after her, their shoes clattering against the marble as they ran out. Gaining speed, she blasted out the door with more speed than a V2 missile, feeling the cool December on her face. Then, as she stepped forward, she felt the cold hands that could only belong to a doctor on her shoulder and neck. She whipped around, coming within inches of one Dr. Crane.

"Mrs. Wayne, what a pleasure to meet you," His cool voice jolted up her spine, compounded by the feeling of a needle sticking into her ribcage between her eighth and ninth ribs before she could react. As he started to depress it, however, she tore away, feeling the needle rip through her skin as she did so, falling out completely as she ran away from him. Bruce was waiting by the car in the drivearound. When he saw Rick unconscious in her arms he ran up, grabbing him, and climbed into the backseat with Rick in his arms. Dusty dove into the front seat, grateful that the car was already running.

"Hold on!" She shouted, and floored the gas pedal, fishtailing the car around the circular driveway, and skidding the car onto the street, narrowly missing another car. It honked at her furiously as she once again turned the wheel sharply and sped away. Bruce fastened Rick firmly into a seatbelt, making sure he was cushioned against any possible blow, and then climbed up to the front passenger seat. Dusty swerved around another car, almost ran a red light, turning at the last possible second to merge with traffic. Bruce, not having seen the exchange in front of the doors, noticed she was breathing hard, and there was a shiny sheen of sweat on her face.

"Dusty, are you okay?" Bruce asked. Dusty didn't answer at first, concentrating solely on the road. Once they'd made it to the highway, she spoke.

"Crane was there. He got Rick with something…me too, but he didn't get it all in for my dose," She touched Bruce's hand softly and he noticed it was shaking. "Don't worry about me, I'll be all right." She turned back to the road and glanced through the mirrors. Suddenly she stiffened.

"What is it?" Bruce asked, turning around to look through the back window.

"Fasten your seatbelt. Now," She said, as soon as he did so, she swerved around another car, speeding the Nissan Primera up to eighty as she zoomed away.

"What is it?" Bruce demanded. She focused on the road, and gritted her teeth as she answered.

"Watson. We need to get to the airport as fast as we can. Call Alfred. I-" Suddenly her phone rang. They looked at the caller ID in unison. It was Watson.

"Don't you dare answer it!" He said. Not heeding him, she flipped open her phone, putting it to her ear, still going eighty, swerving around cars, being careful not to run into anyone by accident.

"What?" She demanded as she answered the phone. Pressing the speakerphone button, she handed it to Bruce.

"I would just like to wonder when you'd like to give up. Our dear collaborator, Dr. Crane, was kind enough to give you a dose of Cyrotipyronene, as well as your brother. When you are ready to give up, we will be happy to aid you. Until then, good night." Watson hung up.

"I hate it when he does this." Dusty said. She was an odd shade of white. Bruce looked between her and the phone.

"What is Cyrotipyronene?" He asked. Dusty sighed, swerving around another car.

"It's a drug that produces symptoms of hypothermia and fever simultaneously, and is eventually fatal if you don't get the antidote. Crane developed it for the League of Shadows about four years ago with the sole intention of a torture device. Or an extremely unpleasant execution," She said bleakly. Bruce stared at her for a second.

"And you're not panicking?" He asked incredulously. She shrugged, refusing to admit that, inwardly, she was.

"I'm driving."

Bruce smiled briefly, and looked behind them again. In the darkness he could only make out outlines of people within the cars, and suddenly a gunshot rang through the air. Bruce instinctively ducked, though he knew that it had not hit the car. Much as he tried not to admit it, there was something unforgettable about the different sounds of bullets on different materials.

"I guess I took too long to panic and call off the chase," Dusty remarked soberly as she swerved out of that lane and over to the far left lane, edging even more speed out of the Nissan. Bruce looked back at Rick. Sweat reflected the light from the window and Bruce could tell Rick was shivering slightly.

"How much time do we have?" He asked. Dusty glanced in the rearview mirror at Rick. She swallowed nervously.

"About four hours before the heart starts to fail. After that it's too late. Rick's unconscious state means he has a little bit longer." She said, drawing on knowledge from her training. Bruce looked at her.

"What about you?" He asked. She tried to breathe steadily, fear filling her eyes, as they remained on the road.

"A little over four hours, as well. Ten to one my dose was more concentrated than his, so even as little as I think they gave me..." She thought for a moment. "You need to call Alfred, and tell him to get Mr. Fox and have them fly to the Denver airport as soon as they can. Tell Alfred to tell Mr. Fox about the Cyrotipyronene and get the antidote. I know he has some," Bruce pulled out his cell phone and dialed in the number. Alfred was prompt in answering, as usual.

"Sir?" He asked. Bruce wasted no time. This wasn't the first call like this Alfred had received.

"I need you and Mr. Fox to get on a plane to Denver City right away. Rick and Dusty have been poisoned with a drug called Cyrotipyronene. We need you there in under three hours. Please, their lives depend on it." There was a short silence. In that Bruce interpreted a, 'what have you done _now_?' Then Alfred spoke.

"It will be done. Please be careful," Alfred said, and then hung up. Bruce closed his phone. He noticed Dusty blinking a little more often than she normally did. In truth, her eyesight seemed to be blurring, and the fact it had started to rain didn't help her predicament very much, but it probably for both of their stress levels if she didn't mention it.

"They're going to meet us in Denver," Bruce said, looking at her. She nodded.

"How's Rick doing?" She asked, glancing in the mirrors to the back seat. Bruce looked back. Rick remained slumped against the locked seatbelt.

"Still unconscious," He said, "How are you doing?" She shook her head.

"Vision's blurring a bit. And I'm cold, but I think that might have something to do with I have no coat," She said, "I'll be fine as long as I get the antidote as soon as I can." She said. She took a look at the speedometer and then looked through the rearview mirror. Incredibly, through her bleary eyes, and the rain and the darkness, she very faintly made out the outline of a gun, aimed at their back window. She suddenly swerved out of the lane, just as the gunshot rang out, audible even over the roaring of the engine. Another rang out, shattering Dusty's window. Unconsciously, and yet dazedly, she put her hand out, the shards from the supposedly shatterproof glass grinding into her hand. She looked down at them dazedly. Bruce noticed this.

"Keep driving!" He yelled over the howling of the wind from the window. Dusty squinted, trying to keep her vision clear. Another gunshot sounded, but from the metallic ping it landed somewhere in the body of the car.

Dusty's eyes narrowed. "So you want to play dirty? Let's play dirty," She whispered to herself. Bruce saw the potentially dangerous look on her face, and was about to comment on it when she shouted over the wind.

"Bruce! Make sure Rick's neck is protected. We're about to go a little crazy." Bruce did as she said, debating to himself whether or not driving at ninety-five miles an hour down the icy highway wasn't already crazy. As soon as he was back in his seat, she floored the gas pedal and turned into a spin. Bruce was grateful that by now no one was on the highway besides them and Watson's crew. Watson's car slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting them, and was almost at a complete stop when Dusty expertly pulled out of the spin and rocketed down the road. The rain was coming down hard now, whipping Dusty in the face as she struggled to keep her wits about her. Darkness was coming on fast to her mind. Subconsciously she realized her left hand was slipping off the wheel. She took her hand a wiped it on her trousers, ignoring the dark smear that resulted. She felt sick and shaky. A sign up ahead announced the airport. Once they were inside they were safe. No one would dare attack her in an airport, of all places, unless they wanted a free one-way ticket to jail.

She rammed the gas pedal down as hard as she could. They passed the speed monitor. Before she passed it, she got the reading. One hundred forty miles per hour. Not her fastest speed that she'd ever gone, but not one she necessarily duplicated on a regular basis. Suddenly, she saw Sam, standing calmly on the sidewalk. She threw the car into a one-eighty, stopping suddenly as the car hit the curb. Then, calmly, albeit a bit shakily she climbed out of the car, smiling pleasantly.

Sam smiled, "Well, I see you haven't changed in your need for dramatic entrances. Goodness, Dusty, what happened to your hand?" Dusty looked down at her hand, which was dripping with blood. She blanched silently, and then helped Bruce take Rick out of the car.

"The window broke, and I put my hand up to shield my face." She said, trying not to let Sam notice who Bruce was. She was a bit of a gossip-lover, and would be hard pressed to not tell anyone that she met Bruce Wayne at a upscale private airport and his wife and ward were either unconscious, or bordering on it. "Where's the plane?" Dusty continued, grabbing their bags from the back. She let Sam carry the lightest one, trying to hide the fact that each one (except the one that the travel agent was carrying) was over fifty pounds full of weapons and other items in the Wayne family's portable arsenal.

Sam motioned into the building. "Through there. Is your brother okay?" She motion toward Rick, who seemed more pale than he'd been moments earlier.

Dusty hid her concern, and shrugged, "He's got the flu. He's kind of out of it right now," She said. Sam nodded and then commenced to lead them through the small airport to their plane. It was one of the fastest private jets they had, and for that, Dusty was grateful. After a few checks, they boarded the plane. Dusty stayed at the door for a moment to speak to Sam.

"Thank you. I appreciate how much you've done for me and my family." Dusty said, holding Sam's hands in her uninjured hand. The other was finally bandaged, but in a sling. "And just in case I never see you again, Sam, I really appreciated the advice you gave me in Manhattan. I won't forget it." She finished. Sam smiled, brushing her short dark brown hair out of her face.

"I was just being a friend. And if I never see you again, I won't forget the advice you gave me," Sam said, pulling Dusty into a hug. "I'll miss you. E-mail me soon, all right?" She asked. Dusty smiled back and nodded.

"I will. Bye, Sam," She said. Sam nodded and backed away from the plane, waving as she went. Dusty waved back until the attendants shut the door. Then she went and sat in her seat beside Bruce. He smiled as she sat down. She thought she smiled back, but Bruce's face grew concerned. Then, as she sat down, almost as if a blanket had been thrown over her mind, blackness consumed her.

Bruce caught Dusty as she passed out, placing her gently in her seat. He checked her breathing and her pulse. They were steady for now, but there was no telling what complications might come about. Crane, the horrible excuse for a human being, could have mixed anything that he'd liked into that drug, and might not have even told Watson about it. The plane took off.

Rick stirred slightly. Bruce was more than a little worried about him. The eleven year old – almost twelve now, had it really been almost a year? – was sweating like crazy, though he was icy cold to the touch. He would whimper every once in a while, as if in pain. It drove Bruce crazy that he couldn't do anything, and took comfort in holding the young boy's hand. It seemed to calm him, and Bruce, oddly enough, felt better as well.

The flight seemed to take forever. Dusty was so still, Bruce checked every five minutes whether she was breathing or not. Bruce felt like an old man by the time the plane touched down in Denver, but when the wheels touched the ground, it seemed like a weight was taken off his shoulders. The plane slowed to a stop, and it seemed that as soon as it did , the door opened. Bruce stood to greet Alfred and Mr. Fox as they climbed the steps to the plane. After a two-second greeting, Mr. Fox bent to Rick's level, and called his name.

"Richard, wake up," Rick stirred slightly, and his mouth opened. "Richard, look at me," Mr. Fox spoke gently. Rick's green-grey eyes blearily blinked open. The pupils of his eyes were huge, like a cat's. Mr. Fox's jaw-line tensed. He opened a black kit, taking a hypodermic needle out of his kit, filling it with an odd pale green liquid. He quickly disinfected a small area, and inserted it into his arm, depressing it quickly, "Alfred, watch Rick. He should wake up in a few minutes, but he'll be in pain." Mr. Fox said. "Mr. Wayne, I'll need your help with Dusty. She hasn't been unconscious for as long, has she?"

"About two hours." Bruce responded.

Mr. Fox nodded grimly, "You'll have to hold her still." Bruce looked blankly at him for a moment, and Mr. Fox knelt beside her. "Hold her firmly and I'll explain as I work." Bruce nodded and took her in his arms. She shuddered, her muscles tensing. She was shivering, though she was hot to the touch and her hair was damp with sweat. Mr. Fox started to explain. "At this point in the drug progression, her brain has suddenly developed hyper-sensory perception. That means she will feel, smell, hear everything ten times better that she normally would, though her strength will stay the same, thankfully. That's why someone needs to hold her down. The shot will probably be the most painful thing she's experienced thus far," He said, taking the needle, and filling it with the green liquid.

Bruce held her, her head on his right shoulder, with his arm around her back, his hand wrapped her right shoulder, and the other with a presently gentle grip on her right wrist, exposing the pale underside to Mr. Fox's needle.

The instant the needle hit Dusty's skin, she reacted. She tried fruitlessly to wrestle herself away from Bruce, her breath hitching with exertion and excruciating pain, and tears trickling down her cheeks, as if the needle was a white-hot poker being impaled through her arm. Mr. Fox tried to be as quick as he possibly could, but the whole procedure seemed to take several hours. Once he pulled the needle out, she calmed. Bruce's hold on her relaxed, and he gently rocked her back and forth as her tears stopped and her breathing slowed to a sedate rate. Bruce stroked her hair gently, whispering soothing words, trying to calm himself as much as her. On the opposite side of the plane, Rick had woken. His young features were pulled into a grimace as he experienced the side effects of both medicines. Alfred calmly watched the boy, soothing when necessary, and making sure he knew he was cared for.

Bruce's attention was suddenly ripped back to Dusty when she went perfectly still for a moment. Then she opened her eyes, staring at Bruce for a moment before speaking in a very small, weak voice.

"Did we make it?" She whispered. He smiled and put his hand on her bandaged one.

"Yes, we did," He said softly. She smiled back, and closed her eyes, leaning against his shoulder. Then her eyes opened, wide with alarm.

"Rick," She said, trying to sit up. Bruce nodded across the aisle toward Rick, but instead of letting her stand up on her own, picked her up and carried her over to her younger brother. Bruce set her down on the floor by the young boy. She touched his face gently, and he looked at her, and he smiled.

A joyous smile spread over her face. Taking his hand, and putting his hand against her cheek, she started to laugh in pure joy.

The crisis was over. It was time to go home.

* * *

This has to be quick, but thanks to Jousting Elf with a Sabre (har, har, Bryt. Use your own account next time ;) ), motherduckatschool, kaite, GreenPurpleBlack (thank you so much), suchicken (thank you!), and legally-insane93 (I hope this chapter is better, description-wise, but you're right. It's usually the one complaint that I get from my writing. The main one anyway. I'm far from perfect.) for reviewing. You make my world go round, and keep me writing.

Well, until my next update! Hopefully, it will be next Friday or Saturday!

~Sabre


	40. Chapter Thirty Nine: Expectations

Here it is! Chapter Thirty-Nine. Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine

They made it home the next day, on the eleventh day of December. Dusty looked around at the tall vaulted ceiling, the wood paneling on the walls, the marble floors beneath her feet, and she felt grateful that she could see them. So much had changed, and once again, her perspective had been jolted. Rick was overjoyed to see the house. He hadn't seen it for over a month, and it seemed that everything had a new and more significant and tangible meaning. As soon as they got home, Alfred immediately started putting everyone's coats away and then zoomed off to make a late lunch.

Dusty was exhausted. Her shoulders were stiff in a way that she hadn't had since she'd started training from where she pulled Bruce up the cliff, and her hand hurt from the cuts from the glass, and the fact that she kept on bumping it against things in her haste to do things as quickly as possible. Because of that, sleep claimed her quickly as she laid down on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

She woke up to Alfred shaking her shoulder gently. "Mrs. Wayne? Are you unwell?" He asked. She turned over, remembering she hadn't even taken her coat off before she'd laid down. She yawned.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I was just so tired from the flight, and the trip…it's been a rough two weeks," She said, sitting up, trying not to let her eyes close again. He smiled.

"Well, your lunch is ready, though you could forgo it if you really felt all that bad," She shook her head.

"Just tired. Thanks for waking me up." She said, standing and shrugging her coat off and handing it to Alfred as she walked to the kitchen. As she entered, she saw Bruce and Rick already seated in the kitchen, eating their soup and sandwiches quietly. They looked as tired as she felt, and she smiled at them as she sat down. After eating the dinner, they all retired to their rooms, completely exhausted.

Dusty woke up around midnight when her door opened. Turning over, she saw Bruce's silhouette.

"Bruce?" She said groggily, "What are you doing up?" He paused, not expecting her to have woken up.

"Nothing," He said, "Go back to sleep, it's nothing." He repeated, turning back to the door. Dusty threw off her comforter and slid out of bed.

"No, seriously, what's wrong, Bruce?" She asked, walking to the door. He didn't move. He seemed to be deep in thought, battling over something in his mind. "Bruce?" She said, stepping forward, putting her hand on his forearm. He looked down, his jaw set.

"You're not the only one who has nightmares, Dusty," He said softly. Her forehead creased with concern.

"Are you all right now?" She asked, her hand moving up to his upper arm, rubbing his shoulder softly and gently. He nodded his head. She looked at his face, studying it for a long time. "Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, her voice soft and almost timid.

He shook his head, "I don't want to trouble you. It's late and we both have to go to work tomorrow," He said, turning away. She sighed and shook her head.

"I've had almost six hours of sleep already, and you look like you could use someone to talk to. Come on." She pulled him into her room. He didn't resist, letting her lead him to the window seat. Then she sat down, patting the place beside her. He sat down beside her, his face blank. They sat silently for a few minutes. Then Dusty whispered, "Whenever I feel terrible, or inadequate, or sad I always come and sit here at night and look at the sky, especially when it is like it is tonight," She said, pulling her knees up to her chest, and turning so she faced Bruce. He turned and looked at her. She smiled, "Look." She whispered.

Bruce looked out of the window, and was suddenly taken aback by the appearance of so many stars. The manor was almost half a mile from any other house, but it still was amazing the amount of stars he saw in the night sky.

"Sometimes," Dusty continued, "I feel small when I look into the sky, like I'm just another speck in a world full of other more important people to care about. But I can never shake the feeling that someone out there, or up there, loves me, and cares about me possibly even more than I care for myself," Then she looked down, "It never fails to make me feel better than I was, even if there's no reason for it," She said, looking sideways at him before looking back down at her hands. Bruce's gaze was still riveted on the heavens, taking in the glory of the night sky.

"What about fear?" He asked, his voice soft and deep. She looked at him for a long while before dropping her gaze when he looked back at her.

"I usually come to you for that," She said, her voice suddenly softer, and she looked away out the window for that. He leaned back against the cushions, softly took her hand, and stroked the back of it with his thumb.

"Why?" He asked, the oft asked question a soft whisper. She leaned forward, her forehead on his shoulder.

"You make me feel safe. And calm. I don't know why, exactly," She whispered. He pulled away from her slightly, causing her to raise her forehead. He looked piercingly at her, in a way that made her self-conscious. Then he half-turned toward her, and leaned closer. Leaning his forehead against hers, his voice almost breaking under the emotion his voice.

"You were gone. Your bed was empty, and I didn't know where you'd gone. And most of all…I didn't know how to get you back," He said. She pulled back slightly, a sad expression on her face. She touched his face, running her fingers from his temple to his chin tenderly.

"I wish I knew how to make them stop," She whispered, sympathetic pain lacing her voice, "I won't leave, Bruce, I won't leave," She said, an earnest timbre edging through her voice. Bruce touched her cheek. Running his thumb over her cheekbone, he smiled, then gently leaned forward to kiss her gently on the lips. She reacted gently, moving closer to him, in a move that was neither hurried nor desperate. His arm encircled her waist and pulled her to her feet, his other arm coming around her shoulders, his kiss growing more fervent with every passing moment.

Dusty responded, almost completely lost within her emotions, and was nearly trembling under his hands. After what seemed like an eternity, they broke apart. Breathing hard, she rested her head against his shoulder, her arms around his torso. He rested his head on hers, and held her tightly as they stood in her room.

"Thank you," He said. She relaxed against him.

"You're welcome," She whispered. Then she looked up, "It's late, and you have to start Batman duties tomorrow." He sighed, the old responsibility settling back onto his shoulders. She half smiled, "It's not easy, but necessary. And I'm here to help," She said, "Now come on, time for bed." She declared softly, freeing herself gently, and sitting down on her bed. Silently, he followed. Once they'd lain down and made themselves comfortable, Dusty spoke again.

"Bruce?"

"Yeah?" She paused for a moment, as if she was going to say something, but decided not to.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Dusty."

* * *

"I assume you're both comfortable," Alfred's voice jolted her into awareness. Bruce turned over, his arm slung over Dusty's back, effectively pinning her to the bed.

"Let me sleep." Bruce's voice was muffled against Dusty's back, sending an uncomfortable shiver down her spine.

"I am fully ready to do so, Master Wayne, once provided with an explanation," He said, his voice not impressed, "What with the circumstances being what they are, I presume there were no marital prerogatives being exercised last night."

"Say _what?_" Dusty turned over, flinging Bruce's arm off her and sat up bolt straight, the shocked feeling in her chest nothing compared to the look of horror stamped on her face. Bruce just started laughing.

"Given that reaction, Alfred, I'd say you had nothing to worry about. Lean toward…interesting dreams and you've pretty much got the right idea. No prerogatives here," Bruce said, stretching briefly before sitting up beside Dusty. She was growing more and more uncomfortable. She looked at the clock. Thankfully, it was more than past time to get up. As soon as Alfred left, Dusty stood, and went to her closet. Bruce turned over and watched her for a moment.

"Did what Alfred said bother you?" He asked as she rifled through her closet for something suitable to wear to work. Choosing long loose dress pants and a dark green pullover, she walked into the bathroom without answering. Bruce watched the bathroom door for a moment before rolling out of Dusty's bed. "I'll take that as a yes…" He said, before plodding off to his own room.

* * *

Dusty sat in the bathroom, holding herself, trying not to hyperventilate. Her hands – the left one still bandaged – gripped her upper arms so hard the knuckles on her hands began to turn white. Her mind was having its very own tizzy fit, and was making hard for her to even concentrate on breathing. After a few minutes, of breathing deeply, she had calmed down enough that she could begin to get ready. It took her longer than normal to make herself presentable, but finally she was able to concentrate enough to finish what she'd begun.

She slipped by Bruce as he ate breakfast, making it to the garage without anyone noticing. Breathing in relief with much more fervency than she probably should have been, she started up her car, and put her pedal to the metal all the way to Wayne Enterprises. Once there, she barreled down to Applied Sciences faster than the hypothetical bullet.

She paused in the doorway, looking at her office, the neat piles of paperwork; all of them labeled and put in their proper places. An old, warm, familiar, comforting feeling swelled in her chest. She couldn't take it anymore. Everyone's presumptions, expectations, disappointments. She just couldn't take it anymore. Not even bothering to check the hot feeling of unaccountable release, she walked to her desk. Grabbing one end of it, she heaved upward. Satisfaction reigned as the large desk lifted and toppled over, paper flying up like a snowstorm. Suddenly ashamed of her inability to control herself, she struck out in anger, knocking her filing cabinet over with a crash, and then her chair, and her lamp, the light bulb sizzling and shattering on contact with the floor. As time passed, her anger grew, and thing after thing was hurled across the room, sometimes shattering, and sometimes just falling to the floor.

Tears streamed down her face. She didn't bother to wipe them away, instead throwing things harder and harder, trying to break through the thickness in her mind, a loud rushing noise reverberating in her ears. Suddenly out of nowhere, a strong pair of arms wrapped her, lifting her off her feet.

"NO!" She screamed, thrashing away from Bruce, who didn't show any trepidation over her violent temper tantrum. "NO!"

"Dusty, stop!" He shouted back. She tried to pull away, but Bruce's grip held as if iron bars encircled her instead of muscle and bone. Dusty's breath was heavy and ragged, the tears still running down her face, but she fell limp in Bruce's vice grip. He paused, also breathing heavily, not daring to let go of her, but instead stood still, feeling her heartbeat race with expended energy. "What's wrong?" He whispered in her ear after he felt her calm within his embrace.

She was quiet, unwilling to talk for a few minutes before she spat out one word, loaded with layers and layers of emotion, "Expectations."

"What?" His voice was confused, and his body language only confirmed it.

She sighed, "Why can't I do something for my own reasons, without having to answer to anyone else's expectation of me?" She asked, her voice fading, as if shrinking from the lack of hope. Bruce loosened his grip. She slumped forward against his arms, still breathing deeply. For…control? He released her carefully, and turned her around. She wouldn't look at him in the eyes, so he spoke, trusting that she would listen.

"People generally live up to other's expectations of them. If we didn't, I think people would be a lot worse off than we already are. How else can we learn though?" Then he paused, studying her, the emotions battling underneath the glassy surface of her face. "Everything has to have consequences, Dusty. Whether it's hurting yourself when you fall off a bike, or having someone presume the worst when they find you in bed with one of your best friends, despite knowing better than to believe the worst."

She shot a glare at him, "I _almost_ forgot that one," She said, but she didn't seem to be as angry or unnerved as before. Still she raised her head and sighed, as if sighing away all of her struggles and frustration. As if she'd gotten an answer. Then she turned to face her office, which looked as though an F5 Tornado had hit it. "Now I have to clean again." Bruce smiled, and patted her back.

"Good luck on that," He said, and turned to leave her at it. Once he left the office, however, he immediately went to Mr. Fox's office, speeding through the office building at a pace that generally would have indicated anger or a desire to leave co-workers in the dust. But Bruce was on a mission; one that he probably should have taken care of earlier. He entered the office. Mr. Fox greeted him cordially, as was normal. Well, here went nothing.

"Morning, Mr. Fox," Bruce said, starting out with quite more gusto than he thought he had. He paused before asking his question, "Can I see Dusty's medical records? All of them?" Mr. Fox thought for a moment.

"Sure. Why, is there a problem?" He asked. Bruce described what Dusty had done to her office. Mr. Fox paused again, as if thinking deeply about what he asked. "You may. Her file is in Personnel. However, you might want to ask Commissioner Gordon about that. He might give you some human insight into that before you read the reports," He said. As Bruce started to scoff, Mr. Fox fixed him with a look, "He knew her better than anyone at that age, except maybe a Ms. SeQuina Tormont and her parents. And the medical reports… are misleading." Bruce's expression froze for a moment as he looked at Mr. Fox, then nodded.

"I'll do that then. Should he be at the MCU building at this time of day?" He asked, starting to walk out of the office. Mr. Fox nodded.

"Either that or he should be in soon." Bruce thanked Mr. Fox and walked out of the office, making a beeline for his own office. Once there, he picked up the phone. He dialed the office number, one of three numbers he'd memorized to get in contact with Gordon, and prayed he was in. It would be a whole lot better if the general public wasn't aware of Dusty's potential – or already-existing - problem.

"Jim Gordon." The older man's voice was slightly tired. Bruce looked over at his office door, making sure it was closed.

"Hello, this is Bruce Wayne. Say, do you think you have a minute where I could come over and talk to you about something? It's about Dusty."

"About what, exactly?"

Bruce took in a deep breath before spitting it out, "Her medical file."

Gordon seemed to swallow, "Whenever you can. I'll call security so they'll let you in."

* * *

Chronic irritable aggression. The phrase bounced through Bruce's head. Chronic irritable aggression. Visions of Dusty systematically destroying her office in an unrestrained fit of rage ran through his mind as he pulled into Wayne Enterprises. He'd heard Commissioner Gordon's account of different things leading up to her diagnosis, but pointing out that the medical report had it wrong. It stated that it was uncontrollable chronic irritable aggression, when she had definite control over herself. He climbed out of his car, handing the keys to the smartly dressed valet, who quickly and efficiently climbed into the car and drove it carefully to its place in on-demand parking.

He quickly and determinedly walked into the building. People greeted him as he walked in the building, but beyond nodding to them, he kept walking, not stopping until he got to his office. As he entered, however, his chair was already occupied. But not by Dusty, as he might have expected. By none other than SeQuina Tormont. The glamorous redhead rested her two-inch black high heels on a corner of his desk as she doodled in a large black portfolio. Bruce waited in the doorway for her to acknowledge his presence.

"I know you're there, Bruce. Even though this is your office, why don't you come in? Dusty called me," She said, pulling her feet down, then putting the pencil on the desk and shutting the large black folder. Bruce entered the room. Sana stood. She was small - even with her shoes, the top of her head was still shorter than his shoulder. After he sat down in the chair she'd just exited, he swiveled the chair around to face her.

"What did Dusty call you about?" he asked, leaning his chair back, trying to act as casual as he felt. She smiled, one corner of her mouth curling upward in a furtive smile. Her dark chocolate brown eyes flicked up to his, somehow playful, but deadly serious at the same time.

"Something about her medical records. Your secretary also said you'd gone to the Police Department for something or other. Interestingly enough, I don't think it was to get her arrested," She said. Bruce smiled, and then shook his head.

"I was just talking to him about Dusty's…"

"Aggression issues?" She said, crossing her legs in a smooth motion. Sighing, Bruce nodded. Sana's look darkened slightly. "What did she do?" She asked, her voice quiet and small. Bruce tried not to let the threatening headache take hold.

"She destroyed her office. It was like she couldn't stop, like…"

"Like she was trying to kill something, or someone?" Sana suggested softly, her left arm moving slowly to take a firm grip on her right wrist, seemingly trying to cover something up. Bruce looked up at her surprised, processing the information as well as trying to figure out the fashion designer's reason for movement.

"I don't think I would go that far, but it was like she was so frustrated with something she couldn't stand it anymore," He said, shifting in his chair. Sana's eyebrows lifted microscopically.

"Really?" A hard to identify emotion laced Sana's voice. Then a small smile crossed her features, "I'm proud of her," She said, moving her right wrist, and then pulling down her sleeve over her wrist. Bruce thought he caught sight of white-scarred skin, but Sana's light complexion was just fair enough to make it too hard to know for certain.

"You mean it was worse?" He asked, taking care that Sana didn't catch on that he was taking careful note of her actions. She sighed nodding.

"It used to be uncontrollable. Until she realized it," Sana sighed, "It's always been amazing to me how much self-control Dusty has, and has had since a young age. She's been able to control herself in every aspect since she was about fourteen. Sometimes I wish that… she'd discovered it sooner. It could have saved her so much pain. Me too," She said. At the confused look on her face, she gave a sad smile, "These are old ghosts you're dealing with, Bruce. Ghosts that have haunted Dusty since the moment that these things occurred. The three largest incidences happened when she fourteen. The first time she broke a window; the second time she tore her room apart. The third…" She sighed, "She grabbed me and threw me through a floor to ceiling glass window that happened to be on the third story of an office building. That's when she realized it had gone too far."

At Bruce's shocked look she shook her head. "You haven't married a monster, Bruce. She's completely sane, and a good person. I only broke my arm and have a few scars to carry around. You must understand, that pain you see in her eyes isn't only from her parents' death. She's just as human as everyone else, but for her extreme agility, strength, and intelligence, her mistakes are inherently larger, weightier than other peoples'. She'll be all right, and I doubt it will happen again for another ten years, if at all. This is the first time it's happened since she was fourteen. I know. She told me." She smiled kindly. "Anything that I can clarify?" She asked. There were a thousand things on the tip of his tongue. Cures, symptoms, they all buzzed around his head. But deep down, he knew that it was really all up to Dusty.

"I can't think of anything," He said, his voice somewhat uncertain, "Commissioner Gordon told me a few other things, the change after, mostly, and how much she has grown, since the incidences," He said, fingering the frame of a picture of him, Dusty and Richard.

"She really has, hasn't she? And it's something that she can move on from," Sana said, looking down at her hands in her lap. Bruce nodded. Then Sana stood. "Well, I think that covers everything. Would you mind if I went and helped your wife put her office – and perhaps her self esteem - back together?" She said, her hair rustling softly as she tilted her head to the side. Bruce smiled.

"Go right ahead." He said. As she opened the door, Bruce thought of something. "Hey, Sana?" He asked. She turned, right hand on the edge of the door. Bruce saw one of the scars, well healed, but a thin, white jagged mark on otherwise flawless skin.

"Yes?" She asked. He looked down for a moment, unsure how to phrase it.

"If Dusty did all of these things, then why are you still her friend? Why not just leave for safer friends?" She smiled and then looked up at him, her dark eyes shining.

"Because her virtues outweigh her faults. She wasn't in control then, but she is now. She didn't know what she was doing then, but she does now, and she's been able to teach people about how to control themselves as well. If I left her now – or if I had left her then - I would be minus one amazing friend, and her self-image would be damaged forever. You can't do that to someone. I've forgiven her, and because she's my friend, as long as she's sincere in trying to make amends, I will continue forgiving her. That's what being a friend is all about, learning to grow, and helping other people to grow as well. And friendship – or any relationship for that matter - is about two people, not just one." With that, the petite redhead turned and left the office.

* * *

This chapter is an important chapter to me, because it made me sit back and rethink Dusty's relationships with people. She really was quite a "problem" child, and I had to consider the reasons why people like Sana and Lieutenant Gordon would stick around. Plus, it just made me consider what I really valued in a friend.

Thoughts? Opinions? Demands as to why I bear my soul in my stories? I welcome them all.

Thanks to motherduckatschool, GreenPurpleBlack, legally-insane93, and Siriusly-a-princess (patience is a virtue...one that (admittedly) I don't have, but it is one. You'll find out.:D )

Also, thanks to J.B. Wolfe and Bryt for inspiring me with their ambiance to help me do better in writing. Unfortunately, both were unavailable, and so please forgive any mistakes. Summer is hectic. Ergo... mistakes.

Anyway, Thanks for reading. Until next week!

~Sabre


	41. Chapter Forty: The Spirit of the Season

Well! Sorry for the slight delay. I'll probably be posting on Saturday for the next two weeks as well.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Forty

Dusty sat in her chair, her feet up on her desk, her forehead resting in the palm of her right hand. All the furniture was righted, but papers and disks were still strewn about on the floor. A headache pounded in her forehead like a set of kettledrums. Fourteen years of calm, attentive decisions, shattered by one instance of self-weakness. A clear, silent tear rolled down her cheek. Thoughtless, thoughtless, thoughtless…

"Dusty?" The sound of her best friend's voice brought her back into awareness, and she quickly wiped the tear from her face, and put her feet on the floor. She looked up at Sana, standing patiently in the doorway. Seeing the horrible emotion in Dusty's face, she quickly crossed the room, somehow avoiding the stray papers, and threw her arms around Dusty. Dusty resisted crying for as long as she could before leaning into her best friend and starting to sob.

"I lost it, Sana, I lost it. I just couldn't help it…what should I do?" She asked over and over, barely able to draw breath, she was sobbing so hard. Sana gently stroked Dusty's head until Dusty's sobs slowed, and then stopped altogether.

Speaking softly and carefully, she said, "Well, first I think we should clean up your office. Then you should go apologize to Bruce for scaring him so bad. He really cares for you, Dusty." Sana looked down at the top of Dusty's head. Dusty's breath hitched and she leaned back.

"I don't know about that, Sana. I mean he's my husband and all that, but after today-" She broke off, sniffling, and wiping her nose before leaning over to pick up a stack of paper. Seeing that she wasn't going to continue, Sana smiled and picked up another stack of papers that had partially slid out of a folder. She shuffled the papers back into the folder.

"I think you should give yourself more credit, Dusty. Ever since he met you, the tabloids have had less and less of "Gotham's Prince of the Party has embarrassed himself once again" and more of "Gotham's Prince of Philanthropy has helped people like he should be doing." If anything you're the best thing that ever happened to him."

"How would you know what's going in the tabloids, Sana? Last I heard you were anything but a gossip monger," Dusty said, putting a pile of paper almost a foot tall on her desk for future sorting. Sana laughed.

"I know because most of the celebrities happen to wear a lot of my designs. I like to see how my work is appreciated."

"And…?" Dusty prompted. Sana rolled her eyes.

"And sometimes I'm curious. Cut me some slack, Dusty, it's not like you haven't done it," Dusty smiled.

"Well, lately I've been a little busy."

"Doing what, saving the world?" Sana asked. Dusty almost said, 'no, that's Bruce's job' before she bit her tongue, remembering at the last moment that even as a joke, it would go over Sana's head, and blow Bruce's cover. Then she answered, her voice in a pure joking tone.

"Well, why else would my fashion sense improved? You would never see…Batman in unfashionable clothes, whoever he is," Dusty said in an off-hand way Sana looked at Dusty sneakily.

"And how would you know, hmmm?" Dusty looked defensively at her best friend.

"What are you suggesting?" She asked. A corner of Sana's mouth quirked up in a half smile.

"Oh nothing. Except for the fact that you might have a_ crush_ on Gotham's resident winged vigilante," Sana said, leaning toward her best friend. Dusty couldn't help it; she burst out laughing, actually losing her balance and falling to the floor, still laughing uncontrollably. She wasn't sure why she was laughing – at the apparent ridiculousness of the idea, or the fact that Sana had no clue that she was right – in a round about, Bruce sort of way. Well, at least Dusty was pretty sure the thing with Bruce was nothing but a crush. What else could it possibly be?

Finally Dusty regained control of herself to the point where she could continue gathering papers, stacking them in neat columns on her desk. At one point one of Bruce's lackeys came in, looking at the aftermath, even at it's half cleaned up state. At her questioning look, Sana stood, putting her hands on her hips.

"Reorg. If you need to drop something off, put it over by the computer. Don't move anything, and for heavens' sake _don't_ step on anything. We're busy," She said, every inch of her sixty-two inch frame crackling with imperiousness. The cute blonde's face screwed up in nervousness and slowly picked her way over to the corner that the computer was piled in. There she placed a small red and gold box, barely noticed by the two working women, who were still sorting papers. Then, sighing that they weren't paying more attention, she walked out of the room.

Four hours later, they were almost half done sorting the papers. It was three p.m., and Sana's stomach was starting to growl.

"Dusty, I'm _starving_! I need food…" She said, flopping backwards on the floor dramatically, "Or I tell you I shall simply _die_!" She said, closing her eyes. Dusty laughed.

"Enough with your Shakespearean antics. Let's go get something to eat." She said, pushing herself off the floor, and reaching out her hand to Sana. As Sana took her hand, Dusty heaved upward, expecting for some reason for her to be as heavy as Bruce. She wasn't, and Sana veritably flew upwards. At the shocked – yet humorous – look on Sana's face, Dusty put on her most sheepish look and mumbled, "Sorry."

Sana just shook her head, "You've obviously been doing a lot more than fencing, Mrs. Wayne." Dusty tried not to smile, but then shrugged.

"I've needed to keep fit." She said, and led the way out of the office, having forgotten completely about the red and gold box on the desk.

It took them another five hours to finish sorting and filing all of the papers. By the end, Dusty and Sana were exhausted. Once the last folders were put away to Dusty's satisfaction, Sana and Dusty sat on the newly cleaned floor, leaning against the front of a grey metal file cabinet. Both of their eyes were closed, and they were silent, reveling in the feeling of no obligated chores for the rest of the day. Or at least Dusty was.

"What are we doing again?" Sana asked, her eyes still closed. Dusty smiled without opening her eyes.

"We're sitting here, enjoying the silence, glad we're not obligated to do anything until tomorrow except sit here and maybe drive home if we feel like it." Dusty said, still not opening her eyes. She was determined to sit there until she simply had to get up.

"I could think of one other thing." Sana said. Dusty opened her eyes and looked at Sana, whose eyes had taken on a very mischievous look. Or maybe it was curiosity. In Sana, the two traits seemed to coincide very naturally indeed.

"Like what?" Dusty asked, sounding almost skeptical. Sana nodded toward the desk.

"The little red and gold goodie that you got from Little Miss Blonde this morning. Wasn't that one of Bruce's secretaries?" She asked, standing up. Dusty shifted her bodyweight and stood.

"Yeah…Gloria, if I remember right. Hmm." She picked up the little red box. It was about the size of a pen box, though it seemed lighter somehow, than a pen box usually was. Carefully Dusty slid the red and gold ribbon off, and then eased the lid off the box. Inside was a thin scroll, bound with a metallic gold band. Dusty smiled, sliding the gold ring off, and unrolling the scroll.

A delicate dragon was drawn at the top, before a note in flowing script that wasn't Bruce's. But they were his words, even though it was unsigned.

_A dragon like you is worth her weight in gold. _

Sana sighed. Dusty took a closer look at the gold band. An etching of a dragon made it's way completely around the ring, a tiny emerald – almost unnoticeable, actually, standing out as it's eye.

"He's one in a million, Dusty." Sana said softly.

Dusty smiled, rolling the scroll up, smiling fondly at the delicate parchment paper, "No, he's not. There isn't anyone else like him. He's the only one of his kind."

* * *

She got home around nine. Alfred was there with a cup of hot chocolate, guiding her to the kitchen for her dinner, and scolding for not calling ahead to tell him she was going to work late.

"Sorry, Alfred. I was reorganizing my office. I'll be sure to call next time." She slid off her coat, and handed it to Alfred, who took it, and left the room to put it away. She had just sat down to eat her reheated chili when Bruce entered. He looked at her, as if expecting something.

"What?" She asked after he'd surveyed her for a few silent seconds. He jerked himself into motion to sit down across the table from her.

"Um…nothing. Have a good day at the office?" He mentally kicked himself. _Smooth, Bruce, remind her of a mentally unsettling experience._ To his surprise, she shrugged.

"I've had better days, but I finally got my office organized the way I wanted it. Do you know that we have records of how many paperclips Wayne Enterprises went through in 1952?" She said, taking a bite of her chili. Bruce's eyebrows rose.

"Really? How many?" She licked off a piece of chili sauce that had stayed on her lip.

"Somewhere around fifty thousand. I think. Maybe it was less that that. I remember five was the starting number…" She trailed off and took another bite. "I also got this gift from a secret admirer."

Bruce's expression lit up, "Oh really?"

She smiled, "Yeah. It didn't have a name on it. I think it might be from Mr. Fox, being CEO and everything… It's quite a pretty trinket." She flicked her eyes upward briefly to Bruce's, making it known that she was teasing. Then she smiled, and reached across the table.

"Thanks, Bruce," She said, her face softening with sincerity. The pure emotion in her voice almost caused Bruce to rock back in his chair.

"It's just a ring, Dusty," He said, his voice half-trying to allay the somewhat annoying teenager-y feeling he was getting at the moment. She smiled.

"For understanding," She clarified. At that moment, Alfred walked in. Quick as a flash, Dusty pulled her hand back and resumed eating. Bruce tried not to sigh, and then tried equally hard not to laugh.

Trying to woo Dusty from now on was going to be like trying to woo a girl on a park bench with her father sitting in between them. But judging by her actions when they were alone, when the metaphorical father moved, or was talked to, there wasn't much to stand in the way…

* * *

The next twelve days zipped by. Every day Dusty received a gift, usually at work, but one or two days at the house. Around the second day she figured out the whole 'Twelve Days of Christmas' generally due to the nature of the gift.

Christmas Eve, though, was the most special day of them all. At work, she had received a wonderful musical box. Having to go to a party that night, Dusty got home from work early that day, intending to go up and get ready for the party. The thought of doing so didn't even faze the blissful mood she was in. However, as soon as she had gotten home, Bruce, who had been conspicuously missing the whole day at work (though, to be fair, most of the workers had, due to the holiday), met her at the door.

"What is it?" She asked at the serious face Bruce had on. "Is it Rick? Is it Alfred?" She gripped his arm, her hands ice cold. Before he commented on it, Bruce remembered briefly that she never turned the heater in her car on and let it go.

"Come with me," he said, leading her through the hallway from the garage. She trailed behind him. His face was serious, but beyond that something seemed too different than when he was truly worried about something. What if it was something she'd done? She started to pull back. "What is it?" He said, turning around.

"Where are we going?" She asked. He looked down.

"Don't worry about it. It has nothing to do with you." He said, pulling her forward. Trying to shake off the feeling of foreboding she started forward after him. Then they came to an intersection of hallways. He turned to her. He held out a blindfold. Her eyebrows shot up.

"This is getting me back for your birthday isn't it?" She asked. He faked innocence.

"No! Oh, actually, well…only a little, I suppose," He said, smiling, "Please?" She smiled, and rolled her eyes.

"Oh fine. Just because you asked nicely. Then will you let me get ready for the dinner party? It is at seven, you know," She said. He smiled.

"If you must. To tell you the truth, I think you should go in your relaxing clothes sometime. That would be a nice change," He said, smiling at the reaction that it would hypothetically bring, as well as Dusty's choke of laughter before she stifled it, and then turned her around to put a blindfold on her. Once it was on, he took her, and led her carefully down the hallway. At first she was very untrusting, very stiff and visibly trying to pretend as if she were relaxing. He stopped.

"Relax, Dusty. I promise I won't let anything happen to you," He breathed into her ear. Shivers went down Dusty's spine, and she stiffened up to hide it.

"You know, you saying that with that tone of voice is not very reassuring," She hissed back. He smiled, leaning his forehead against her head.

"Trust me," He said. She smiled uncertainly, taking a deep breath, and they continued forward. They went fifteen steps forward, and then seventeen steps after they turned right, they stopped.

"I was trusting you!" Dusty protested. He smiled and turned her to face him.

"But we're here," He said, smiling. She reached to take off the blindfold. He grabbed her hand. "Not yet. One more thing," He whispered. Then his lips touched hers. Smiling into his kiss, she put her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. While they kissed, he gently untied the blindfold, but it was a while before they finally let each other go, still gazing into his eyes. When Dusty looked away from Bruce, she gasped.

Bruce's study was completely decorated, the Christmas decorations smiling back at her as they did their job personifying the holiday season. Even a Christmas tree sat in the corner, with a few presents lying underneath its decorated evergreen boughs.

"Oh Bruce, it's beautiful," Dusty whispered. He smiled, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

"I have something for you," He said, looking down at her fondly. Her eyebrows lifted, and she drew back a bit to look into his face.

"Oh Bruce, you didn't need to, you've given me something every day for the past twelve days," She said, her voice soft, leaning against his shoulder. He guided her over to the Christmas tree.

"I wanted to," He said, leaning down to pick up a wrapped gift. It was light, with blue and gold wrapping, a beautiful silken gold bow on it. Smiling, she took the present to a nearby couch and sat down. Bruce sat down on the armrest behind her, putting his hand on her shoulder. She took the gold bow off, putting it to the side to save for later, and then continuing to unwrap the present. Finally she got to the box, a plain white box, unlike a lot of the presents that Bruce had given her, which were flamboyant from the start. She looked questioningly up at him, with him shrugging.

Then she opened the box. Gasping, she reached into the box, her fingers met with the softest of fur. "Bruce, he's beautiful." She lifted out the gorgeous tuxedoed teddy bear, hugging him close to her. Catching a small whiff of the caramel colored bear, she gasped again. "He's wearing your cologne, Bruce," She said, fighting back tears.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "For when I'm gone, so you'll never have nightmares again," He whispered to her. She stood, turning to face him, throwing her arms around him, dissolving into tears. She kissed him, hugged him tightly and then kissed him again before burying her face in his shoulders, letting the tears of unspeakable gratitude run down her face unhindered.

"Bruce Wayne, you are the _best_ thing that has ever happened to me," She whispered into his shoulder.

* * *

Well! A little Christmas cheer in July!

Thanks to Bryt (You weren't on, it was late, and I was leaving early, early in the morning. Effectually, you were unavailable), motherduckatschool, and suchicken for your reviews. You guys keep me going!

Also, thanks to all who added me on Author Alert, or Favorite stories, etc.

Until Next week!

~Sabre


	42. Chapter Forty One: A Christmas Surprise

I know, I know, it's a day late, but unfortunately I got in significantly later than I anticipated last night, so I was unable to produce this chapter on time. Sorry.

Still, please enjoy! Happy Christmas in July!

* * *

Chapter Forty-One

"Dusty, wake up!"

Dusty groaned, trying to ignore the persistent whispering that had woken her. She flopped over, away from the noise.

"Dusty, wake up!"

She looked at her clock. 4:45. Who in their right mind would wake her up at five in the morning? Everyone in the house was aware she and Bruce had gotten back at eleven last night. She turned around.

"What?" She whispered harshly. Rick's excited face lit up at seeing her awake.

"It's Christmas and there are a ton of presents underneath the tree. It's amazing!" Rick whispered excitedly, bouncing slightly as he bent near the edge of her bed, holding onto the side. Dusty sat up, the old excitement that she hadn't felt in years percolating in her chest.

"Really?" She whispered, leaning toward her housecoat. Rick nodded. Dusty snatched the powder blue coat and slid out of bed, her feet cold as they tip-toed through the house toward the living room. They peeked around the corner simultaneously, and Dusty gasped. Santa had been busy.

"Whatcha looking at?" A voice said near her ear. Dusty jumped. Turning around, she looked back to see Bruce smiling back at her. She laughed.

"The presents. Santa's been busy," She said, giggling. He leaned around the corner, his hand on her shoulder.

"So why haven't we gone in yet?" He asked. She couldn't seem to stop giggling.

"It's not five yet. We can't go in there until it's five. Old – well, new family rule," She said. They stood in the doorway, taking in the beautiful, peaceful, lighted Christmas tree, the ornaments heralding the holiday with the peace and serenity that it was meant to bring. Rick was watching his glow-in-the-dark watch with incomparable focus.

"Five…four…three…two…one!" Rick said, and then crept into the living room. Bruce and Dusty followed. Dusty felt herself drawn into the old days where it was imperative that she be as quiet as possible, and unconsciously crouched lower. Behind her, Bruce smiled. He guessed what was going on in her mind, and also quieted his footsteps, slipping to the other side of the couch without her noticing.

"Boo," He whispered in her ear. She jumped violently, gasping deeply, and falling backward onto the couch behind her. Bruce snorted, trying to not to break the delicate silence with great bursts of laughter, but was steadily losing the battle.

"Shhh!" Rick said, turning around from where he faced the veritable mountain of presents. Bruce's face went guiltily straight, not only from Rick's shush but Dusty's Look of Quick and Sudden Death that she sent over to him. Then she smiled and sat by Bruce, taking his hand in hers.

In the quiet before Alfred came in and served hot chocolate - it was still a mystery to Dusty when the old man slept - they simply sat and enjoyed the quiet, each pondering, yet not worrying, in the comforting stillness. To Dusty, she soaked in the still quiet, her heart feeling calm and at peace in the presence of those she loved most. As she sat, looking at the lighted Christmas tree, she could almost feel her father sitting beside her, his arm around her in a way that only he could, hear her mother walking to and fro behind her, humming the Christmas carols with a trilling, soprano voice, glorying in the season in a way Dusty had found unparalleled in anyone else.

She leaned into Bruce further, feeling utterly contented. How could anyone beat this?

Joy to the world. All is calm, all is bright.

* * *

Once the presents were unwrapped, the carols sung, the wrapping paper cleaned up from some of the unbelievable places it had been strewn; the ham eaten, and the festive spirit celebrated to the fullest, it was once again time to work. Batman was always needed, and in the excitement of the holidays, there was a slightly greater margin for crime.

Dusty was going to go out for a short time that evening too, but not for long. It was bad enough that Rick didn't know about Batman, but to make him suspicious would be asking for trouble. Plus the fact that it was their first Christmas together, and it would be pure torture to any of them to spend it alone yet again.

Bruce and Dusty slipped down to the Batcave while Rick was assembling his model rollercoaster set in the small recreation room. Dusty helped Bruce suit up before he went to the Tumbler II and she hurried up to the garage. It wasn't particularly smart to go out in her regular clothes, but she figured that since she wouldn't be out so long, it would be more of a hassle to wear her suit. It wasn't like she was expecting any trouble anyway. Bundling in her jacket and sweater, she climbed into her Mazda and sped out of the garage.

She was mostly on surveillance today. Armed with her Nikon, she parked outside, quite near the entrance of one of the rumored meeting places for the mob, slinking down in her seat, drawing her hood up and turning the car off. She waited for almost two hours, getting colder and colder before she was awarded. One lone man, dressed in black, almost looking wraith-like in the cold winter air, the snow around him, snuck to the doorway. Pulling her camera out with the night vision on it, she took several pictures, the eight frames a minute coming in handy as he turned from side to side. She was sure she'd gotten at least one good picture of him.

He slipped inside. Sighing in relief that he didn't accidentally see her, she slunk down a little more in her seat. She'd identify him later. It was time to pack up and go home. She started her car, the cold engine chugging a little bit as it started up. Suddenly her phone lighted up. It was receiving audio from the mike implanted in Bruce's Batman phone.

"_Charlie, it was a lucky swing, he could wake up any minute." _She froze. Bruce was unconscious. Pressing a button to keep the microphone on, she pressed the 'find GPS positioning' button. It was moving.

"_I'm telling you, Eddie, when I hit someone with this thing, it ain't no lucky swing." _It changed direction.

"_I'm just saying, step on the gas. Whatever Watson said, the sooner we dump this guy, the better. I just don't know why he told us to leave the mask alone."_ She sighed in relief. They hadn't taken his mask off. For now they were both safe. But how did Watson know about Batman? It didn't make sense. Bruce was confident that everyone who knew about the Batman-Bruce connection was either dead or had no connection with Watson and his division of the League.

It was almost as if… No, that was ridiculous. The microphone crackled again and she glanced at the GPS. It had stopped. At the docks.

"No," She whispered. The word 'dump' put on a whole new connotation. She pulled out of her parking place, sliding a bit on the ice. She rammed the gas, her Mazda shooting forward, spinning slush behind her as she raced off. She put the phone on speakerphone so she could hear it while she drove. They were sitting there for a moment before they moved him. For once she was grateful it was so cold. She skidded around the corner, praying that they would delay just long enough for her to get there.

The thugs were talking about something else now. She heard the opening of a door and their voices suddenly becoming muffled. She looked at the GPS. They were still in the same spot, and she was coming close to where they were. Suddenly the little dot started to move, if but just a little bit. Horror percolated in Dusty's chest. They were carrying him to the water's edge. But she was almost there!

She turned the corner just in time to see them throw a large black mass into the water. They were lucky she was thirty-five yards away and had put on the breaks, otherwise they would have likely been run over. As it was they quickly climbed back into their car and sped off. Dusty sped up, skidding the car to a stop in front of the pier. Throwing open the door she threw off her jacket, stuffing it inside her car and dashed around the car, shedding her sweater on the hood and she ran to the dock and executed a near-perfect compact jump in about where she had seen them drop Bruce.

The water felt like cold, icy pieces of fire, biting into the skin on her face and arms and saturating her clothes. The air in her lungs seemed to evaporate, and she looked around frantically in the water. She didn't see him the first pass, and then she had to go up for air. As she took a gigantic breath, a horrifying voice in the back of her mind reminded her that in water as cold as this, it only took 15 minutes to kill, not to mention the 3 minute death sentence without air. Stilling this voice of panic, she dove back under water, working her fingers back and forth to keep them from freezing. Suddenly she saw him. Down, five below her, he floated, lifeless, the visible skin on his face a deadly white. She dived further down, the cold water rushing past her agony to her stiffening limbs. Finally she reached him. Wrapping her fingers in his waterlogged cape and one under his arm, she pulled upward for all she was worth. What she wouldn't have given for one of those life guarding rescue tubes...

They broke the surface. Dusty took a deep, life-giving breath. Bruce didn't make a sound. As Dusty swum for shore, she started talking to him. Well, shouting more like.

"Batman! Wake up! Come on! Wake up!" She kicked him once. It was on accident, but it was almost a magical cure. He jolted, coughing water out of his lungs. Then he lashed out,as if brought to consciousness under the impression he was being attacked. They both went under the water. Dusty kicked furiously to get above the water again. Once they had, she yelled.

"Batman! It's all right! Just kick. We need to get you out of the water." Actually, although she'd never admit it, Dusty was probably the one who was in the most danger. Without any insulation like the batsuit, she was already shivering, and her fingers were losing more and more dexterity with each passing second. Her pinkies were bone white and bordering on blue. Finally, with Bruce's help, they bumped into the waterfront access staircase that she'd been aiming for. Turning Bruce around, she boosted him onto the platform, and then climbed out of the river herself.

Pulling Bruce to his feet, she pulled him up the stairs and they quickly made their way to the car. They paused momentarily for Dusty to pull on her sweater, rejoicing in the body heat that had not gone completely out of it. Then they climbed into the car, turning the car on low heat. They were quiet for a moment. Then Bruce, shivering slightly, spoke, his voice hoarse from the cold.

"You saved my life," He said, looking at her, unblinking. Dusty smiled, also shivering.

"Yeah, well, Merry Christmas."

* * *

They had to stop by a nearby warehouse to hide the Tumbler before they continued on home. Bruce called Alfred on the way home, warning that they were both wet and cold. Alfred didn't ask what had gone on, but how Bruce seemed to get more and more quiet as their conversation went on, he was probably going to get an explanation whether he asked or not. Dusty drove in silence, feeling her skin, which felt like it had been packed in ice for several days, slowly warm up. The pulled into the driveway thirty minutes later. Alfred came out holding warmed towels. Rick wasn't there. When asked, he told Dusty that he was still up in the game room playing with his rollercoaster. From there they were ushered upstairs to dry off.

After she had changed into dry fluffy pajamas, Dusty wrapped herself in her queen-sized comforter, turned off the lights and sat on her window seat, looking up at the stars. Then she sneezed. She should have known. Every time she got doused with water that was below freezing, she invariably got a cold. Well, it was probably time to call up for Kleenexes, then.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," She said. Argh! Even her voice sounded lower and more subdued. Alfred came in, in his hands a tray with a bowl of steaming something and a box of tissues.

"I thought you might need this, Mrs. Wayne." Dusty smiled and Alfred placed the tray on a small TV tray near her.

"Thank you, Alfred. I suppose I'll be right in a few days." As she said so, she sneezed. One corner of Alfred's mouth twitched upward.

"Be that as it may, I thought you might like to spend the rest of your Christmas vacation sipping hot beverages from the comfort of your window seat."

Dusty smiled and sat back, watching the snow fall outside. Alfred watched the young lady for a moment. Then she whispered hoarsely, "It was Watson, Alfred." As soon as these words were out, however, she coughed and lunged for a Kleenex.

"I beg your pardon, madam?" He sighed.

"He tried to kill Bruce this time. I just…I don't know. I just always figured that Batman was safe…" She leaned her head against the window. Then she closed her eyes, "I'm so glad I got to him in time. If I lost him…" She coughed again, harder this time. Alfred's face grew pensive.

"Are you sure it was Master Wayne that Watson was after?" Dusty shrugged.

"Unless Watson thinks _I'm_ Batman." She paused for a moment, and then started to laugh, with Alfred joining in. Dusty broke off coughing. Alfred handed her a mug (the supposed bowl, being twice as big as an any ordinary mug) and a Kleenex. He patted her hand.

"Well, I suppose I should go check on Master Bruce. Do you think you can hold up for a while?" She nodded, and took a sip of the cup of soup.

"Thank you."

"Rest well, Mrs. Wayne."

* * *

Again, forgive me for the late update. Please review!

Thanks to Lamminator, Siriusly-a-princess, suchicken, and motherduckatschool for reviewing! I really appreciate it!

Until next week!

~Sabre


	43. Chapter Forty Two: Dance with the Devil

As the chapter name implies, Dance with the Devil by Breaking Benjamin is an appropriate listening choice for this chapter, at least in my opinion.

Thanks.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two

New Years Eve

Dusty sniffled and blew her nose, before impatiently taking out her foundation and, once again, returned her nose to its original – or at least natural - color. Then, putting it in her purse, she stood to leave her dressing room. As she did so, Alfred entered with her coat.

"Are you sure it's wise to leave in your condition, Mrs. Wayne?" He asked, handing her the floor length fitted jacket. She sighed.

"You make it sound like I'm pregnant, Alfred," She said. At his look, her mouth dropped open in exasperation. "I have a _cold_, Alfred. Do you think I normally sound like this?" She indicated her voice, which had seemed to drop several octaves. He smiled.

"Very well, Mrs. Wayne, but don't stay out too late, and keep warm." He helped her with putting her coat on, and making sure her black scarf was wrapped around her neck well. She buttoned up her coat and grabbed her purse. She walked out of her room, Alfred in tow, to meet Bruce, who had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Well, you're certainly bundled up well." Bruce remarked, a slight nasal twang to his voice. Even the great Bruce Wayne was susceptible to the random cold, and having been dunked in a freezing harbor had brightened his chances considerably. Dusty smiled.

"Well, I would like to get better from this cold as fast as I can, if you don't mind," She said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. "Besides, you seem to be as dressed up as I am." It was true. He was also wearing a scarf and a heavy silk and wool mix coat, and as usual, looked completely dashing.

He smiled, "That I am. Shall we go?"

* * *

Twenty-five minutes later they arrived at the party. As soon as Dusty's coat was off, and she entered the ballroom, her floor length black dress sweeping along the floor, she was accosted by three different people. Alexandra Borebau, one of the reporters from the Gotham Socialite who was reporting this event, Marina Calvin, one of the people who had latched onto Dusty as their confidante, and Clementine Daveridge, who looked resplendent in a white dress by Simple Elegance.

Ms. Borebau got in her comment first. "Mrs. Wayne, our people haven't been able to talk to you since your wedding. How has everything been going in your life?" The first thing that came to Dusty's mind was the ever tactful _well, over the past few months since I married a man for my safety, my brother was kidnapped by a homicidal maniac, and there is a great possibility that you all might be in danger for being around me since – look! Lo, and behold, there's Watson himself._ Dusty did a double take. Dressed in a gorgeous tuxedo, Watson walked in, Montague in tow, as if he were born to walk amongst the rich, famous and politicians. Instead of giving a real answer, Dusty smiled, said something whimsical and sappy about Bruce, and then made a beeline for her husband.

Bruce smiled as his wife approached him, but the smile was wiped off face the minute she pulled him into a corner.

"Bruce, Watson's here," She whispered to him. He looked around her into the room and caught sight of the ninja master and his right hand man. Several swear words floated around his mind begging to be used. The two other people he saw didn't help matters much.

"Yes, well, the Orange lady and your little protégé are coming over as well. Pretend you're talking to me about your dress or something."

"What, I can't talk about something meaningful?" She asked, looking over Bruce's shoulder at the two approaching social climbers.

"It's more socially acceptable than talking about someone who is probably going to try and kill you, especially if they're present, and currently introducing themselves to the mayor."

"He's doing what?" Dusty's head whipped around to see Watson giving a short, neat nod to the mayor as he shook his hand.

"Sweet potatoes, what next?" She grumbled, putting her head in her hand for a moment. Her question was answered all too soon.

"Oh! Justine! Please help, I was just talking to Isabelle, and she didn't know if your dress was designed by Prada or Armani." Marina gasped. Dusty barely held in the obligatory eye-roll that accompanied most of Marina's comments. Granted, Marina either never saw her, didn't notice, or didn't mention it when she did, but all the same, Dusty felt that most of the time it was better to just keep it in.

"Actually it was a Tormont original," Dusty said, "I'm a close friend with Ms. Tormont, and she's the designer of most of my evening clothes." Bruce touched her shoulder, signifying that he was leaving. Or running for his life. Both were increasingly possible, especially as Marina catapulted into a long winded discussion on how Ms. Tormont – _Sana_, Dusty corrected her time after time in her head,_ Sana_ – would probably one day be merged into Prada or Armani, considering the fact that the styles were similar anyway, and all good fashion needed to be limited to three or four names.

"After all, if there were too many, how would one know which to choose?" Dusty smiled in the most sincere smile she could manage. Clementine cleared her throat.

"I hear you went to Seattle earlier this month."

Dusty smiled, trying to keep her eye on both Watson and Montague while keeping her attention on Clementine.

"I did. It was a very enjoyable trip," She said, before her eyes widened. Watson and Montague were walking toward them. She glanced over to Bruce, and noticed that he was watching them very carefully. Surprisingly, a wide, charming smile – one that Dusty knew from second hand accounts could melt ladies hearts – spread across Watson's face. He made his way up to Clementine, Marina and Dusty.

"Ah, Mrs. Wayne, it is so good to finally see you after so long," He said, sounding perfectly sincere. Dusty's smile still rested on her face, and to even the keenly observant viewer, she seemed genuinely happy that Watson was there. On the inside, her stomach was curdling worse than sour milk.

"Mr. Watson, it has been a long time." _If two weeks can be considered a long time._ "What can I do for you?" She asked. Then, mentally, started kicking herself with spurs. As he gave her an appraising look, vaguely translating into, _yes, please, if you could just give yourself over to my men so they can kill you that would be great._

Sometimes she hated her mental voice, especially when it was right.

"Actually, Mrs. Wayne, my student, Paul would like to be introduced to your charming companion." He indicated Clementine. Clementine blushed prettily (inwardly Dusty had a moment of envy – her own face turned more of a tomato red whenever someone made her blush) and Dusty made the introduction, also introducing Marina, who was staring, her mouth almost hanging open, at Montague. As soon as they moved away from Dusty and Watson, he turned to her furiously.

"Who gave you the antidote?" He hissed. Her eyebrows lifted. Her mind went blank for a moment.

"What antidote?" She asked, unnerved. He made a growling mind in his throat.

"For the cyrotipyronene. Who gave you the antidote?" He grabbed her wrist in a very firm grip. All of a sudden, a very annoying tickling started at the back of her nose. Good grief, of all the times to need to sneeze. She tried to stave it off for as long as she could, diving her hand into her purse surreptitiously, trying to find a handkerchief. Watson watched her in confusion, and suddenly a very large and violent sneeze erupted out of her. A look that bordered on satisfaction crossed Watson's face

"I thought your voice sounded different. Have a dip in the harbor, did we?"

"Of course we did, how did you guess?" Relief flooded through Dusty's body when she heard Bruce's voice behind her. Reaching around Dusty, he grabbed Watson's wrist and pried his hand off of Dusty's arm, almost throwing Watson back a few steps as Bruce surreptitiously shoved him away. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Watson, I would like to dance with my wife." With that, Bruce gave Watson a scathing look, and led Dusty out onto the dance floor. As soon as they were safely in the midst of the crowd, he leaned close to her and whispered in her ear.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, the worry in his voice twanging something somewhere around her aorta. Dusty shook her head, but drew closer to Bruce, the comfort she nearly always felt around him spreading through her entire body.

"I'm not going to be able to avoid him all night, Bruce, and I'm sure if I try and go home, they'll pounce, and I'll be spirited away somewhere. I don't think they know about…" She trailed off and mouthed 'bat' before continuing, "But I don't think we should tell them, just in case. I just don't know what to do. Normally they wouldn't dare to…well, to do anything here, but…I've just been eluding them for so long…" She trailed off again, this time her expression worried, and somewhat scared.

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows, "Dusty, that's something that's been bothering me for a while. Why doesn't Watson just let you go? In my case they were just after the city I was in, and except for Ra's, they weren't after me personally. Why?" She looked over his shoulder, her expression troubled, and her mouth turned down in a frown.

"Watson has a personal record. None of his enemies, or the people who have betrayed them have ever escaped them before. And certainly none have kept away as long as I have," She said, looking around, trying to fight back tears of frustration and – to be honest - fright. Bruce scoffed.

"Oh come on, I'm sure they were all trained-"

"Two weeks, Bruce. The longest was two weeks. And that was because Watson couldn't get plane tickets. I've been running away for almost two years. It's just…" She shook her head, "I'm sorry. My nerves are shot, and I can't think of what to do, or what possibilities we have. And I don't even want to think about the chances we have of getting out of this party alive…" Bruce shushed her and brought her into a loose embrace.

"We'll get out. As far as I've seen there's only Watson and Montague. You've taken them on alone before."

"Bruce, may I remind you that I_ lost_?"

"Yes, but I'm here," He said reassuringly, releasing her slightly. As the song ended, he bowed, letting the happy-go-lucky persona of a carefree billionaire fall over his face like a curtain. Letting her own classy but sentimental façade fall over her own true emotions, she smiled and let him kiss her hand. They were about to start another dance, when someone cleared their throat. Bruce stiffened and Dusty turned to see Montague, standing there in a spectacular dancing tuxedo.

"Might I steal your wife for the next dance?" He asked. Bruce looked like he was about to refuse for Dusty when she touched his arm lightly.

"I'd be delighted to, Montague," She said, moving forward. He smiled and stepped forward, then stopped abruptly as she said, "Providing you don't bother me with asking who went into the harbor. Both of us did," She said. Pausing for a moment, he seemed to think about it, and then nodded. She smiled, "Well, then. Shall we?" She asked. She looked over her shoulder at Bruce and winked reassuringly. He seemed to relax, but knowing Bruce, he could project any emotion he wanted to. Dusty sighed, and then focused on the task at hand.

Montague led her into the middle of the dance floor, they assumed the position of any professional dance couple, and then started to dance. She knew him as a partner very well. While she had been dancing at the Monastery, he had been her primary partner, and it seemed like stepping into old, almost comfortable shoes. As he swung her around in the stop-go motion of their dance he started to speak.

"So, if I cannot ask who went into the harbor, may I ask who went first into the harbor?" Drat. Dusty keep her poker face on, glad that he spun her around so she had an excuse not to answer right away. When she turned to face him again, she smiled impishly.

"You may ask," She said before letting him lift her and spin her around. He sighed and pulled a tight hairpin turn, perhaps trying to get her to trip and fall. However, she had been practicing for the past few months and easily kept up with him. After a few minutes, when the song was drawing to a close he leaned close to her.

"What would you have to gain by not telling me?" He asked. She gave him an unmovable look.

"My privacy, and most probably the greatest secret that I hold," She said, smiling slightly at being purposefully recalcitrant. The song ended, and she inclined to her head to him. He put on a very unconvincing smile and then left. Dusty turned, intending to leave the dance floor only to come face to face with Watson. Dusty's breath seemed to freeze in her chest. Watson extended his hand to her, inviting her to dance. Time stood still. The two choices seemed larger than they were. Should she take his hand?

It would be a dance with the Devil.

She took his hand. His hands were cold. They always were. She carefully drew closer, as if he would lunge at her. His hand was strong and firm at her back. They leaped backward at the first heavy chord of the song, moving as one person, their unity not even hinting that two mortal enemies were facing off in a battle of wills. Watson swung her around a hairpin turn, the usual feeling of weightlessness taking over her body for a full second before she settled back to earth.

Despite the rapid pace they were dancing, and the amount of character they were putting into the dance, he smiled at her, not even winded, and asked, "Nice evasion of Montague. I commend you. However, I must ask that you not carry on with the foolishness. I have a job to carry out tonight, and if you take too long, it will ruin the whole deal for everyone. Who was thrown into the harbor?" Dusty's suspicion meter peaked.

"What kind of a deal?" She asked. Watson smiled peacefully.

"Now, now, Justine. That would be telling, and I'm sure that neither of us would want to give away any information for free."

"At least my information doesn't have the implication that someone will die," Dusty said, seething behind the mask of serenity. Watson whipped her around, before picking her up by the waist, executing a perfect lift-turn, his expression never ruffled, his breathing never quickening. He spun her around three times, Dusty's black skirt flaring out. Once more he spun her around, the centripetal force pulling her head and shoulders back. He whirled and whirled her around, throwing her from one arm to the other in time to the music, allowing Dusty to fall backwards in his arms each time. Then, as the song drew to a close, the slowed into the basic Viennese waltz, and then drew to a stop as the song ended.

"That, I believe, Mrs. Wayne, is a risk you will have to take. If you'll excuse me, madam. I would not wish to be late for my appointment." He led Dusty to the edge of the ballroom, then turned to her, "My compliments to your husband. Montague." He beckoned his right-hand man over from where he was conversing with Clementine. "Mrs. Wayne," He said, no hint of irony in his voice, and bowed.

Then, with a magnificent, balanced turn, he left the ballroom.

Dusty stood there for a moment, before looking around the ballroom. She saw Bruce, the poor man, dancing with Marina, and decided to let him be. She thought about what Watson had said. Business arrangement? What kind of arrangement? She would have to look up all of Watson's associates when she got home.

No, when she got to the office. She'd left her flash drive with all of her information on it on her desk in her office. Confound it. It took her four more minutes to formulate a plan. She walked toward the coatroom, her steps fast but nonchalant. As she walked out the door she motioned over one of the valets.

"Will you be working here later?" She asked. He nodded. He was a youngish man, around nineteen, obviously in need of a bit of cash. She dug out a hundred dollar bill out of her purse and handed it to him. "You can recognize Bruce Wayne, right?"

He nodded again. Dusty started to wonder if he could speak.

"When he comes through here, in about fifteen minutes or so, tell him that I've already left, but not with Mr. Watson. All right?" He nodded. "Please repeat it."

"Tell Mr. Wayne when he comes through that you've already left but not with Mr. Watson." Dusty privately rejoiced at making the busboy speak.

"Very good. Can you call me a cab, please?" He nodded and walked outside to hail a cab while Dusty went over to the coat check-in to get her coat and scarf. By the time she got back, a yellow city cab was sitting in the pull around drive. Taking care to not let her dress drag on the wet ground, she carefully climbed into the back of the cab.

"Wayne Enterprises, please," She said. The cab driver nodded, hit the meter, and then sped off down the street.

* * *

Bruce escaped Marina fifteen minutes later. Honestly! She was a very clingy person, and she was absolutely obsessed with picking apart everything everyone did, said and wore, and then interpreting everything with equal amounts of bias, dementia and discourtesy. He now understood the reason why Dusty seemed to be somewhere else whenever Marina was talking to her. He was tempted to hide (or cower) in his happy place, until he finally could escape.

Now there was just the simple manner of finding his wife. Or, it would have been simple if she had actually been there. He'd looked everywhere, including sending a lady into all the little girls' room to ask if she was there. She wasn't. He looked around worriedly.

Watson.

Bruce started. How could he have forgotten? Dusty and Watson had been dancing when Marina had pounced on him, and had weaseled an invitation out of him. How, he wasn't sure, but he wished he hadn't. She only knew how to the basic waltz, and to put it succinctly, it was boring. Especially when she was talking the whole time. He seriously considered asking Dusty if she could quietly arrange someone dashing and extremely tolerant to sweep Ms. Calvin off her feet. Or Sana. If there was anyone extremely well versed in the marital arts, it was her.

He walked to the door. He was about to corner one of the valets on duty, when one approached him.

"Er, excuse me, Mr. Wayne?" He turned to the kid. He couldn't have been more than nineteen. He looked exhausted and, to tell the truth, a little sick.

"Yes, sir?" Bruce said, looked carefully at him.

"Um, a lady said that when you came through to give you a message, Mr. Wayne," He said. Bruce fought the urge to roll his eyes. Get to the point, get to the point.

"Yes?"

"She said to tell you that…" He closed his eyes and tried to remember it exactly, "She's already left, but not with Mr.…Wilily? Watford?"

"Watson?"

"Yes! Watson. Then she called for a cab, but I didn't hear where she was going."

With any luck, she'd gone home, where she'd be safe. As for himself, he wasn't sure what to do. For sure, he wasn't going to stay here without her. As corny and sappy as it sounded, parties were dreadfully dull without her, despite the people that gravitated toward her, and he felt a horrible headache coming on. He would go home and wait for her, and if she wasn't back by daybreak, he'd go after her.

This decided, he told the young valet to call his car.

It was a long ride home.

* * *

Thanks to all (Bryt, Difference-is-normal (ouch, sorry about the lip - that can't be fun...) and suchicken) for reviewing. If I may be so bold (and so self absorbed) to ask, what has been your favorite moment so far? I'd love to know, It'd only take a second, and I'd love to hear about it.

Thanks!

Until next week!

~Sabre


	44. Chapter FortyThree: Complications

I am a horrible person. Really I am. Sorry for completely dropping the ball. Yesterday I had a lot more than I thought I would going on and...yeah/

I hate it when life interferes with my writing schedule.

Anyway, please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Three

A knock rapped on Sana's door. She looked up at it from where she sat on the couch. Who would it be? James had left a little over fifteen minutes ago, having to work the next day. Could he have forgotten something. It was likely. More than half the times James had come over to visit her, he'd left at least one thing – usually two – at her house. She went to the door, stepping quickly across the cold wood floor to answer the door.

For some reason, she paused slightly at the door. Something didn't seem right. It wasn't that she heard something out of the ordinary, in fact she didn't hear anything. Maybe that was the problem.

"Hello?" She said through the door. No answer. Well, it was a very thick door. Suddenly wishing for a peephole, she turned the door handle.

The man standing at her door was no one she'd ever seen before, but when he spoke she knew exactly who he was.

"Hello, Ms. Tormont. My name is Paul Montague. This is my associate, David Watson. May we come in?"

* * *

Dusty climbed out of the cab after paying him, marching up the drive to Wayne Enterprise's Applied Sciences garage. Swiping her security card, she opened the door and shook the snow from her hair and coat. Hurriedly, her dress and coat swooping behind her, she charged down the hall, making her way to the office to retrieve her flash drive. Getting to her office, she flicked the light switch on quickly and started making her way through her drawers, not caring what fell out of place. Flipping on her computer, she dug through her various papers.

Found it!

As her computer turned on, and it's start-up process had finished, she plugged in the flash drive to its proper outlet. As she pulled up the information she sat down in her chair, ready for a long night of research.

* * *

Sana was nervous. At first look, Misters Watson and Montague were perfect gentlemen, but after a few minutes, there was something distinctly disturbing about the two men. Watson had to leave a few minutes after he arrived, citing that he had an appointment. It was odd, at least to Sana. Who would have an appointment at eleven at night? Nevertheless, he left and Montague was left alone with Sana.

"How is your family?" Montague asked. It was as if he was an old friend that hadn't seen her in a while. In fact, it was a part he played so convincingly, that she actually responded.

"Very well, actually," Then she paused. "Mr. Montague, I don't mean to seem rude, but why are you here? The only correspondence that we've had is one letter, and a phone call."

Montague smiled. It was a secretive smile. "I've come to take you away, Ms. Tormont."

Her heart exploded with apprehension. "What do you mean?"

"Did Justine never tell you?" His look was almost troubled

"Did Dusty never tell me what?"

"About her involvement in the League of Shadows?"

* * *

Dusty searched through the documents on the flash drive, trying to see which organizations Watson had been in contact with for the past few months.

None.

None? She checked again. Nothing had been reported, seen, or even hinted at. She sighed. What on earth was he up to?

* * *

"I won't believe it!" Sana screamed at him. Montague stepped forward. He hadn't meant to anger her, but it seemed that it was unavoidable now.

"Ms. Tormont, please calm down. I do not want to have to subdue you," He said. Her eyebrows shot up.

"_Subdue_ me? You mean you're going to _kidnap_ me?" She screeched, her fingers hooking into claws, and backing away. Montague sighed. This was not going the way he wanted it to. Generally the people he had to…well, yes, kidnap, were not as astute as Ms. Tormont was on a good day, and here she was, practically in a panic. Not able to think of anything better, he lied.

"No, Ms. Tormont. We just need to take you to a special facility where you will be safe from any threats that Justine Wayne might threaten you with."

"You seem to forget, _Monsieur Misérable_, that I have been around Dusty for almost a _year_ and she has not done a thing to even insinuate that she bears any ill will to me. And I have known her _decades_ longer than you have." Sana said, backing away from Montague. "There is no way on this good green earth that you are going to make me go with you willingly. If she is supposed be part of this terrible organization, why are _you_ part of it?"

She had a point. Nevertheless, red crossed Montague's vision, and he leapt at Sana. The next thing he knew was a crushing sensation in his nose. The red headed spitfire had swung a hand weight at him, and it had landed. If she had broken his nose… He reached for her again, ducking the flailing hand weights in her hands, barreling into Sana's stomach with the crushing intensity of a linebacker in football.

She landed on the floor beneath a man who was a complete foot taller than her, and close to one hundred pounds heavier. All of the breath whooshed out of her lungs, leaving her breathless. Her head had thwacked against the floor, and stars exploded in front of her eyes. She saw Montague raise his hand, and felt him touch the back of her neck. Then everything went black.

* * *

Dusty sighed, putting her head in her hands. It just wasn't working. There was absolutely no indication that he had contacted his associates in Gotham for the past three months, even through e-mail, which she had tapped into as many accounts of his that she knew of.

It meant only one thing: that it was time to go home. If it was during the summer, and if there wasn't such a great chance of her dying in the attempt, she would have walked home, party dress or not. But the chances were too great, and seeing how she needed to be alive for Bruce to kill her when she got home (she'd left him last year, after all, she observed as she looked at the clock, which noted that it was two in the morning on January the first), she called a cab. She just couldn't bring herself to call Alfred, who was most likely awake, but just on the off chance that he wasn't, she didn't want to wake him from what would probably the first sleep he'd had in days. No need to deny it, they were probably the capstone of the highest maintenance families of the world.

The taxi met her at the corner of fifth and town. She bent her head against the blowing snow as she climbed into the taxi, and took a moment to arrange her dress around her before she closed the door, and told him where to go. Either it didn't register as odd to him, or he was too tired to argue, because he simple clicked the meter and started to drive.

She got home around two thirty, utterly exhausted. Alfred greeted her at the door, taking her coat and scarf, and then ushering her up to bed. She climbed the steps slowly, letting the small train on her skirt drag behind her. The hallways seemed longer than usual as she slowly made her way to her room.

When she entered, she didn't even bother to turn the light on. When she heard the voice, however, she jumped and turned, senses on high alert.

"Dusty?" She put her hands down, her head tilted to one side. He was lying on the bed, his elbows propping himself up

"Bruce?" She whispered, walking to her bed. She sat down on the edge, right by where he was laying. He sat up enveloping her in a one armed hug, holding her long enough to get the message across that he had been worried about her, but would leave it alone for now, and then leaned back onto his elbows, "What are you doing in here? I mean, I know that you love my mattress and everything, but stealing my bed while I'm not here seems kind of underhanded." She touched his cheek softly, and then brought her hand down to rest on his chest. He smiled, lying back down, onto his back.

"Where were you?" He asked softly, touching the hand that rested on his chest. She sighed and put her head down on his shoulder opposite to the one nearest to her. His arms came around her, "Where, Dusty?"

"The office." Her voice was muffled into his white tuxedo shirt. His eyebrows furrowed.

"Why were you there?" He asked. She made a wordless grumble into his chest. Or, at least it seemed wordless. Unsure, he just remained silent until she turned her head and mumbled.

"Watson." His eyebrows rose.

"I thought you said you didn't go with Watson." Her head rose.

"I didn't go there with Watson, I went there _because _of Watson. All the more reason to hate the man," She grumbled. Bruce smiled, his head resting against the pillows.

"Sorry. It's late. You might have let me know where you were going."

"I didn't trust the messenger," She grumbled, kicking her shoes off and pulling her feet up onto the bed. At the memory of the young adolescent valet, Bruce had to laugh.

"That kid wouldn't last a week in the League." He agreed. Dusty smiled into Bruce's shirt.

"I nearly didn't last a week. I suppose we should give him more credit. He was barely out of high school." She said, yawning and closing her eyes. Bruce's arms encircled her more tightly, and she moved slightly to make herself more comfortable within them.

"Hey Dusty?" Bruce asked, his voice rumbling around in his chest. Dusty made an inquisitive noise.

"What did Watson say?" She raised her head, looking up at him.

"He said he had an appointment," She said. Bruce's expression darkened.

"That can't be good."

"That's what I thought. But I couldn't find anything in my files that would indicate what he was doing. It must be a one or two person job, and they've kept it well closeted. I just don't know what to think."

"It's three in the morning. People besides mailmen, farmers and Mormon early-morning seminary students aren't required to think this early."

Dusty laughed. "True point. Well, Bruce, happy new year," She said, before laying her head back down on Bruce's chest and closing her eyes. It seemed like the next second she was fast asleep.

Bruce looked down at the top of her head. The old fear had resurfaced. _What if she was gone_? He laid his head back on the pillows, mixed emotions coursing through him.

He just couldn't answer that.

* * *

He woke up to the all-too-cheerful tweedle-dee-dee of Dusty's ring tone. Dusty woke up too, and looked at the musical vibrating purse for a moment as if she couldn't remember what was making all the noise. Then it dawned on her and she lunged for her purse, falling off the bed in the process. Landing impossibly on her feet, she grabbed her purse and dug around inside it, her fingers quickly finding the cell phone.

"Hello?" She asked. Immediately James's voice exploded into her eardrum.

"WHERE IS SHE?"

"James?" Dusty's voice was confused. Why was the pianist calling her, and who was he…

"Where. Is. Sana?" He said, trying to keep his voice under control, but not really succeeding.

"What do you mean where's Sana?" Dusty asked, "Isn't she at home?"

"I'm at her home, and I assure you that she is not here. It, well, it looks like there's been a fight." Dread trickled into Dusty's heart. Bruce had gotten out of bed now, squatting beside her, his ear close to the phone.

"Um…I," Dusty stopped. Nothing was coming! Watson's words of an appointment were started to make sense. Bruce saw something was terribly wrong, so he switched the phone to Dusty's other ear and whispered the next course of action to her.

"We'll be there in an hour, James. We can't call the police until they've been missing for twenty-four hours, but I know someone who can help," Dusty said.

"Who?" He asked. Dusty had to only speak one word, and she didn't even need Bruce's help with it.

"Batman."

* * *

Thanks to motherduckatschool (I'll get back to you on that...), something541 and Bryt for reviewing. Also, Kudos to the Mormon Early Morning Seminary Students. You rock my socks, and inspire me with your willingness to learn. As for me, as hard as it was, I'd totally relive those five years over again. I think we rock.

Anyway, please review! I still would like to know favorite parts, and I'd especially love to hear from all those who haven't reviewed yet. I'd love to hear what you think, and suggestions for later on.

Thanks!

~Sabre


	45. Chapter Forty Four: Man's Common Sense

Here you go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Four

James looked terrible when Dusty and Batman drove up around the same time. It was only about eight in the morning, the sun barely starting to light up the clouds from which more snow threatened.

At first, James was close to hysterical. In fact, he stayed close to hysterical, but between Batman and Dusty, they found out what they needed to know. Yes, she was really gone, and hadn't stepped out for a few minutes. No, he hadn't actually touched anything in the apartment aside from the door handle. No, it didn't look like Sana had taken anything with her. Yes, there were signs of force.

"I don't know, Batman." Dusty said, leaning against the roof of her car, almost four hours later, having done a thorough once-over of Sana's apartment. "It looks like someone jumped on her. I did see some blood on the floor, and I took a small sample, but we don't have any of Sana's DNA on record. At least not unless she's robbed a couple banks or got booked before. And that," She said as Batman inhaled to comment, "Is about as likely as it is for Montague to pop up right now and declare his undying love for you."

"I don't think I needed that mental image," Batman ground out. Dusty smiled and opened the door to her car.

"Well, be that as it may, we're kind of stuck. If it is in any conjunction with me, at least I know that she'll be alive long enough for me to 'officially' know about it," Dusty said, frowning as she leaned against the car.

"You don't seem too worried." Batman said from behind her. Dusty turned around and shrugged, sighing.

"At this point I'm not even sure if I should be worried. The blood does worry me a little, but beyond that, there's not much indication that anything went wrong. She might have fallen down, called an ambulance and spent the night at the hospital for all we know," Dusty said emphatically, "You have to admit that James isn't the most…level headed person. I just don't know."

"But you're going to get ready for the worst?" Batman ground out. Her gaze fell, and she shook her head.

"I don't think I have much choice."

* * *

The next morning, Sana was reported missing to the police after a thorough search of every hospital, and calling all her close friends and relatives. The list was short, and Dusty couldn't help but feel sorry. She felt responsible... and didn't know why. About four hours after the report came in Commissioner Gordon sighed as he called in Dusty and James. His look was grim as they entered the office and Dusty knew instinctively that something was terribly wrong. He got right to business immediately after they were seated.

"Mrs. Wayne, Mr. McTaverly. I've called you both in for specific reasons. You, Mrs. Wayne, because this letter," he held up the aforementioned letter, "is addressed to you. You, Mr. McTaverly, because you are Ms. Tormont's significant other at the moment, and it seemed fair to include you on this." He saw Dusty's braced look. "Justine, you look like you know what I'm going to say. You're probably right in assuming that Ms. SeQuina Tormont was abducted. That is certainly what this note indicates. However, Mrs. Wayne, we – meaning both the GCPD and the FBI - would like to know why on many counts. Especially how you got to be on a first name basis with an internationally-known terrorist."

Dusty swallowed, guilt seeping into her chest. "Might I assume that David's been busy?" She asked weakly. How she was going to explain this away, she'd never know. But then, to her ultimate surprise and actual shock, he backed off.

"Justine, Mr. McTaverly, this should not go outside this room, but I'm asking you to not tell me. Whatever has happened, I have enlisted the Batman to go help Ms. Tormont. However, for the time being, I would ask that you both consent to being placed in protective custody. There are a great many veiled threats in this letter to both of you, and as Police Commissioner, I feel it is my responsibility to make sure that the people most at risk are moved out of danger. We have arranged for protective custody for both of you."

With what felt like a huge blow to the chest, Dusty suddenly felt like screaming. "Commissioner Gordon," She burst out, and then calmed her voice, "Sir. Um…this is going to sound like a major evasion, but I am very sure that Wayne Manor is the safest place I can be. However, James," She looked at him, trying to apologize as convincingly as possible, "Should be given all safety benefits. Really. I couldn't bear to think that I was safe and he wasn't."

All right, so that was a lie. The truth was, she knew that if left to his own devices, James "Impetuous" McTaverly would most likely go after Sana himself, and of all the things she couldn't afford, that was at the top of the list, just like Watson finding out her computer password - iheartmontague87, which made her gag every time she typed it in, but he would never in a thousand years guess it - and her own Lamborghini. Commissioner Gordon sighed. Somehow he knew this would come up. Luckily, he'd thought of this before-hand.

"If you have a conceivable plan for your own safety, you can turn it in to me in the next few days. However, if I don't have a workable plan, then I'll take you both into protective custody next Wednesday." James tried to garble something out. Turning an impenetrable look onto him, Commissioner Gordon spoke calmly.

"Mr. McTaverly, the same offer is extended to you. However, if the safety plan is not satisfactory to me, you will come into police security with no argument. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Commissioner," James muttered. Dusty nodded as well.

* * *

Dusty stormed into the house. Bruce was waiting for her in the front hall and knew something was wrong the minute she passed him without even saying hello. He followed her up the stairs.

"So what did Commissioner Gordon want you for?" He asked, running up the stairs behind her. Dusty sighed, and grit out furiously.

"He wanted me to go into protective custody!" Dusty said, fuming, "And he's putting you on the case." She added a minute later, with considerably less vindictiveness, walking into her room and dumping her bag on her desk and then walking to sit on her window seat, staring out the window as if something offensive was in the yard.

Bruce's forehead creased. "Anything else?" He asked, crossing the room to sit beside her on the window seat.

"I can go free if we get a conceivable and satisfactory plan for my safety." She said, huffing a little bit irritably. "Honesty, I'm ready to tell him the truth about me and the eight years I was gone. I can take care of myself!" She insisted. "And don't give me that look," She protested at Bruce's slightly skeptical expression.

"Dusty, your safety does depend on this. Watson obviously knows that Sana is your best friend, and because of that, he knows that if he threatens her with anything, you'll go swinging in to save her. More than anything, you need a person to remind you of common sense to stop you from doing exactly what he wants you to." Bruce said, his expression and voice appealing. Dusty sighed miserably.

"Sometimes I just hate it when you're right," She muttered, leaning her head against the window. He smiled and patted her knee.

"It's my job." He said, keeping his hand where it was. Sighing, she leaned back against the window, and started to think.

* * *

James sat in his room, head in his hands, propped up by his elbows on his desk. Several unfinished plans sat on the desk beneath his elbows. It was just useless. How on earth was he going get Sana back? No one was doing a single thing to get her back at all. It was almost as if he had to go himself…

His head shot up.

That was it.

* * *

It was almost midnight. Bruce and Dusty had gone through three or four plans, each with almost airtight security over the past two days. Now Dusty lay in her bed, staring at the canopy above her, thinking about the one they'd chosen. Technically speaking, she would be able to do whatever she would want to, as long as someone competent in the protection area (namely Dusty herself) was around her at all times, with Bruce (or Batman) being her back-up in case of emergency.

All they had to do was turn it into Commissioner Gordon in the morning. So why was she so nervous? She knew that Bruce had his own form of safety for her, established long before this issue before even came up, and yet for some reason she felt unsafe. She sighed. This was all mad. She was safe. Bruce was looking out for her even when she didn't feel like he was, and she knew that with both their efforts combined, there weren't a lot of scrapes she got into unless she went crazy.

Suddenly a very cheerful tune ran out. Jumping, she lunged for her bedside table and leaped for her musical cell phone.

"Hello?" She said quietly. If she was any louder, Bruce would wake up. The man's hearing was uncanny.

"Dusty, I need your help." Dusty froze.

"James, where are you?"

"I'm in front of Wayne Enterprises. I need to talk to you."

"James, it's almost midnight. Why are you in front of my office building?"

"Because I need your help. I need to you call Batman."  
"Why?"

"Because I need to rescue Sana."

Of all the… "James, I'm sure Batman has it under control. You don't need to do this. In fact, _don't_ do this," She said, somewhat patronizing. But she was refusing. Bruce would be so proud of her.

"Dusty, all they're doing is saying that they're going to help her, nothing is coming of it! I thought as her best friend in the whole world that you'd feel the same way about it as I do," He pleaded. Dusty blinked. He was _not_ using emotional blackmail. She had to take a minute before she responded.

"I do, James, but I also feel that people should wait for the right timing and the right skills to go do the rescue work. Neither you or I have that." That was a lie. A small white lie that was smacked back in her face before she could blink.

"Don't give me that, Dusty. You're more athletic than you can possibly get by dancing, you've got reflexes better than anyone I've ever met, and you have this way of…I don't know. Watching everything at once." She winced. She was letting it slip. She knew she'd gotten sloppy at keeping her mask up around people she knew, but she hadn't realized it was _that_ bad.

She sighed. What could she say?

"Have you found out where she is?"

"Ninth and Riverbank. Third warehouse. Regular guard schedule as far as I could tell," he responded immediately, like he'd been researching it. Dusty briefly wondered what spy novel James had been reading to make him do something like this.

Sighing, knowing that something was bound to go wrong, she flopped back on her pillows and responded. "I'll be there in a half an hour," She said, sighing. Then she hung up.

Being as quiet as possible, she snuck through the house to the study. Dressing in her dragon gear quietly, she then snuck back upstairs and went to the garage. Climbing into her Mazda, she started it up and drove out, heading to Wayne Enterprises.

Mixed feelings raced through her head and body. What she was going to do when she got there? Go along with it? Tell him to go home? What if he refused? Tie him up and dump him in her trunk? It wasn't as if she couldn't do it. On the other hand, there was a thrill going through her. One that Bruce might have referred to as 'the one that makes her do extremely unintelligent things.'

But what else was she to do? James was going to get himself killed undoubtedly if he did this on his own. With her, he actually had a chance. But babysitting a pianist on a rescue mission was about on par with being asked to kill one's self. Or maybe it was just a translation of that fact.

Dusty sighed and rubbed her nose. Whatever was to happen…

She shook her head. She just didn't know.

James was waiting for her in front of the doors to the main office building down in parking. She climbed out of her car, and James surveyed her outfit.

"Nice. Looks reminiscent of the Batman. Where is he, by the way?" She nodded, and answered.

"Thanks, and he couldn't make it. Now what's your plan?" She asked. "I'm presuming you have one," She said, trying hard not to sound ruffled and really unenthusiastic. It was kind of working.

"Well, yes. I went into the Bureau of Landowners, found the blueprints of all the warehouses in the area, and then matched the dimensions of the warehouse to the blueprints."

"Really?" Dusty was surprised. James nodded, looking slightly hurt at her surprised tone, but he shook it off when she gestured for him to continue.

"Yes. I haven't been able to look inside yet, the guard is too thick so far, but I was able to dig around for some remodeling records." Dusty had to work hard at keeping her jaw off the ground. Then, shaking herself, she reminded herself of the duty that was imposed on her to keep this earnest-but-rather-thoughtless man from killing himself.

"James, it is wonderful that you have done all this. And the police will be able to use this-"

"Police?" James asked, his voice incredulous, "_Police_? I didn't do this for the police, I did it so you and I could go get Sana now!" Dusty's eyebrows shot up.

"Me? James, these people want my _head_!" She exclaimed, indicating the wanted object. James rolled his eyes.

"I kind of got that drift. But wouldn't it be worth it to steal their captive out from under their noses?"

"But what if they happened to be looking beyond their own noses at the time, see us and then _kill us_?" Dusty shot back. James sighed, as if talking to a child.

"Dusty, villains _never_ expect this sort of thing. I mean, what sort of crazy person would go crawling into their lair to save someone?" Dusty sighed.

"Apparently you," She said, her tone sardonic. "Did it ever occur to you that you put your thumb on the biggest problem with this entire plan?" His eyebrows furrowed. She shifted.

"And what's that?" He asked, trying not to sound extremely unsettled, as if he was going to be shown some obvious tactical oversight. Boy, was he going to get it. Dusty barreled on.

"That only a crazy person would try and rush this place. These aren't your ordinary 'villains', James, these are highly trained people in the arts of stealth, violence, and death. And although I know you're a yellow belt in karate, it's just not going to work. Sana will be fine until the police decide to go in and get her," She said, then sighed and turned to leave, also feeling a bit like she was abandoning Sana. Oh! Dusty pushed those feelings away. She was trying to be responsible, and right now the most responsible thing, and the best thing for Sana, was to let the Police handle it. As she walked away, she heard him speak.

"How did you get mixed up with these people?" His voice was angry, and scared, and confused. It was a mixture that made her sad more than anything else. One more person hurt by everything that she'd done. She stopped and then turned around, her face sad, her eyes swarming with a very old pain.

"A mistake. A very large mistake."

* * *

She was driving home. She had climbed in her car and hadn't looked back. There just wasn't any reason to baby sit James as he did something that would most likely get himself killed and then some.

Then it hit her. She slammed on the breaks. She couldn't believe it. She'd totally forgotten that James, even when called several names, wouldn't stray from his course, even when it meant lying.

Drat. Drat, drat, drat.

She looked around. Being almost twelve thirty, the highway out of Gotham was empty. Should she?

She did. Pulling the car around, she started driving the wrong way up the highway until she got back into the city limits, switching to the right side of the road, and then speeding up, heading toward Riverbank. Confound the man. How come every single time her friends got into anything life threatening, she either was the perpetrator, or was dragged into it by some flimsy excuse like being the only one there, or having money, or being the only one who knows how to do CPR.

She winced. The consequences of the last had not been pretty. And not because anything had gone wrong, but her parents, to say the least, had not been thrilled.

She pulled onto Riverbank, and looked around for James's car. Riverbank was, as to be expected, on the riverbank, and the light from the moon shone down on the icy black water, and reflected back on the buildings, actually making good light to see in. Switching her headlights off, Dusty drove slowly up the street until she saw his car parked in front of Seventh and Riverbank, two blocks down from the warehouse in question.

Silently, she parked the car behind James's and turned the engine off. She debated calling Bruce, but then silently berated herself. Asking Bruce advice would lead into where she was and what she was doing, all on top of waking him up in the middle of the night. The results would be less than glamorous, probably ending up with him donning the Bat-persona and dragging her sorry backside back to Wayne Manor.

No, she would rather just drag James back and chain him to his sofa. Or just save time and drop him off at the police station. Silently, she put her phone on vibrate and slid it into her belt. There was nothing worse than being on a covert mission, with the objective being not be seen, and then having it all being blown to pieces to the music of Jingle Bells.

She ran the two blocks to the warehouse. It was huge. In her mind she'd been hoping for a small one with jail bars on the windows so she'd know exactly which window to break into. No such luck. And the footsteps – James's, she knew, based on the tread and size of the shoe print – lead right to the door. Which was being guarded by a guard big enough to make Jonathan Ogden jealous.

Either the guard that was there now wasn't there twenty minutes ago, or James could magically turn invisible. Either way, she would have to find a different way in. Looking around at her surroundings, she looked up at the roof. That would be her best bet. And hopefully she could scale the wall without anyone noticing her. What with all of Bruce's recent training, though, she didn't expect that it would be too hard.

* * *

For people (like me) who aren't big on American football, Jonathan Ogden is 6'9" (2.05m) and weighs 345 pounds (156kg). Just a bit of football trivia for your enjoyment...

Anyway...

Thanks to suchicken and Bryt for reviewing. Please continue! It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy...

Bryt: No you didn't edit that chapter (or this one) but you're not online at the moment, and I don't want to drop the ball again. Ergo... Yeah. I guess I need to take time management. Hopefully when I get back into school I'll get better at it. Here's hoping...

Well, until next week!

~Sabre


	46. Chapter Forty Five: Clandestine Sojourn

And now, at this EXTREMELY late hour, is chapter 45.

Enjoy

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five

Thankfully there weren't any guards on the roof. Either they didn't think that there was any danger from above, or they were just holding the fort better inside. Dusty couldn't even begin to guess how many men Watson had drafted, and it hadn't occurred to her to ask James. In any case, the odds weren't good.

Dropping silently into a crouch, she crept across the roof to the rooftop entrance into the building, freezing absolutely still with every noise around her. Sneaking in silently, grateful that the wind wasn't blowing especially hard, she started to slip down the stairs. Almost immediately she heard a whisper of voices. They seemed familiar. She crept down silently to hear what they were saying.

"But how did he get in? And how on earth did he get to the prisoner's cell before anyone saw or heard him?" One of the voices was saying. She froze in horror, straining her ears to hear more.

They'd found him. Either Sana or Bruce, most likely both, were going to kill her when they found out she'd left him alone. Well, besides that, Bruce would probably kill her for actually being here in the first place.

"He mentioned something about the Worst Case Scenario Book, but how could he learn something like that from a," He inserted a word here that Dusty chose to ignore, "Book? Does he think we have no brains?"

That could be James, Dusty conceded in her mind. As kind and intelligent as he usually was, he could choose to ignore anything he wanted with frightening obstinacy. This, unfortunately, included ignoring the fact that these were not your ordinary clueless villains. And apparently he'd gotten caught. She turned her attention back to the two men, listening closely for any clue as to where Sana and James were. The fates were with her. She smiled inwardly.

"Well, it's probably time to go check on them. Montague wasn't very happy when Watson told him that he should watch over the redhead. Did you hear she almost broke his nose?" Dusty bit back a slight snort.

"Never mind that. Is the brunette still unconscious?"

"Last I heard. Doc's kind of worried. He said she should have woken up by now. Watson probably hit 'er too hard when he took her in. After what he did to Kyle, it wouldn't surprise me to know that she's dead."

Dusty frowned, suddenly worried. Brunette? Who else was missing in Gotham? She didn't think any of her friends had been abducted – sure she'd have heard something by now… She just couldn't be sure. In a city of over five million people, there were no easy answers. As much as she hated it, she'd just have to wait and see.

It didn't take long for them to leave. Through the tumult of her thoughts, she heard them slip quietly away. Dusty was reminded again about how grateful she was for Bruce's training, and his insistence that she learn to keep notice of absolutely everything, especially considering she would have been extremely out of it, and wouldn't have heard them quietly leave. Carefully she snuck around the corner, slipping her League mask over her face.

She stole down the hallway after the two goons who had spoken. It seemed like an eternity of twists and turns, each carefully noticed, and planned out in relative position to the warehouse, before they arrived in what appeared to be the holding cells. Once they were in proximity, Dusty actually heard Sana before she saw her. The redhead was screaming at the top of her lungs in French at Montague, and from what Dusty could actually understand, none of it was complimentary.

Montague was shouting back at her in his native tongue, apparently just as mad as she was. That is, if Sana was actually mad. Although her temper was as fiery as the next redhead, perhaps even more so, she could fake it exceptionally well, especially if she wanted to make her opponent look bad or stop thinking entirely. In Montague's case, it appeared to be working, especially considering his almost-broken nose. Looking at his swollen nose, Dusty felt a rush of amusement run through her.

_Go Sana_! She thought, and then, a bit to her chagrin, started to really pay attention to their conversation for the first time. Sana had started to scream again, and through static noise Sana was emitting, her words were still clear enough to understand.

"_And another thing, I was going to say how RUDE it was to beat up my boyfriend! I mean, what you had broken one of his fingers? You could have ENDED HIS CAREER! Then where would he have been when you let him go? JOBLESS! HELPLESS! HOPELESS! FOR AT LEAST SIX WEEKS, IF NOT LONGER!_" Sana yelled. Dusty might have heard a faint 'hey!' from James, but she wasn't sure through Sana's bellowing.

"_Cry me a river!_" Montague shouted back, "_If he had a real job, he wouldn't have to rely on his fingers!_"

"_Don't you DARE insult my boyfriend._" Sana's deafening, biting tone was almost enough to make Dusty wince. "_If YOU had a real job, you wouldn't need to go around kidnapping and blackmailing people!_"

Smack _down_. Dusty tried not to smile, even though there was no one around to see it. Around the corner, Montague went speechless, and saw the two hench-ninjas standing the room, trying not to look uncomfortable at seeing one of their leaders completely losing it. He glowered at them, and then stalked out of the room.

"Make sure the prisoners keep quiet. And if the redhead speaks again, gag her," He grumbled, sweeping out the door. He passed Dusty with inches to spare. She went completely still, sure that he would see her in the corner by the doorway. However, though he brushed by her so closely she could smell his cologne as he passed mere inches from the shadow, he did not notice her. She waited for his footsteps to fade down the hall before slipping into the room.

It was a shadowy room. Good. With any luck she would be able to slip from shadow to shadow without Underlings One and Two noticing her until it was too late. She snuck into a corner. She would definitely have to take them out at once. It would be fast and quiet, and probably better for her health as well. She just had to wait until they let their guard down, even just a little bit. Even now, it was abominably low, something that Watson would have them horsewhipped for, but it was just a touch too aware for her to make a completely effective move.

She waited for a half an hour. Through her experience, she knew that the League would guard in shifts of four hours, meaning if she could do it silently they could possibly get through the entire building and out before they even found the unconscious body guards. Silently she crept forward. Breathing as shallowly as she possibly could to make the least amount of noise possible, she moved her hands carefully around the necks of each man. Then, pressing the carotid artery as hard as she could, they each convulsed once, surprised at her sharp and powerful grip, and then slumped into unconsciousness.

Dusty looked around, locating the key almost instantly, and then went over to unlock the door.

"Sana." She whispered through the metal door.

"Dusty?" Her friend said, her voice trilled through the door, but much too loud for any possible sleuthing.

"Shhh!" Dusty whispered again, trying to dampen her friend's tone without dampening her enthusiasm, "We need to be as quiet as possible. Can James walk?"

"Yes." James whispered, "I can run too, I'm just a little sore." The cocky tone from before was gone. In its place was a very humble, ready to obey tone that reassured Dusty like nothing else. It wasn't that she preferred to be an overlord, but cooperation while trying to escape was just insurmountable.

"Do you know who the other prisoner is? And where they're staying?" Dusty asked, turning the key in the lock. The door swung open, screeching loudly. Dusty stopped the door from opening any larger than what was needed. The first thing she noticed when she saw Sana was how beat up the poor girl looked. Her hair was a mess, and vivid bruising was visible on her neck and arms. Dusty stared at Sana in pity, a growing anger inside of her begging to be able to tear Watson apart limb from limb. Sana smiled, her cheek slightly bruised and swollen.

"Don't look at me like that, Dusty. A little throbbing here and there, but nothing that I'm going to die from," She said reassuringly. James looked beat up as well, a bruise here and there, but also, for the most part, looking sturdy. Then Sana looked over to another wall. "Did you get the other girl yet?" She asked. Dusty shook her head.

"Do you know who she is?" Dusty asked, turning her head to look toward the opposite end of the room.

"No. Apparently she's been unconscious ever since they brought her in. From what I heard, they brought someone in to see her, but I don't know if they were able to do anything for her," Sana said, "They keep her in the cell over there." She pointed to the wall she had been looking at.

Dusty walked over to the room, the solid metal door seeming more cold and formidable than it should have been. Something was not right. There was something behind the door that she wasn't supposed to see. Ignoring the feeling, she stuck the key in the lock, and turned it. Easing the door open as quietly as she could, her breath caught.

Lying on a low cot, her head swathed in bandages, was Rachel Dawes.

Dusty rushed over to her. "Rachel! Oh my… Rachel!" Dusty's breathing hitched in panic. What was she supposed to do? How on earth could she rescue Sana and leave Rachel, especially with her in this condition? Was it even safe to move her? Did she have a choice?

Sighing, she ran a hand over her hair in frustration. Who would know? Who would know? "Sana, get in here!" Dusty whispered fiercely. Sana snuck over and into the cell, gasping when she saw the prostrate lawyer.

"Can I move her?" Dusty asked her friend. Sana looked from the woman on the cot back to Dusty.

"You're asking me?" Sana's quiet voice had a definite panicked tone to it.

"You were the one who took the paramedic course thingy in college!" Dusty said, her voice borderline panicked herself. Sana shook her head.

"It's been five years, Dusty! I hate to admit it, but when you've got your mind on other things, it's rather difficult to remember things that have no bearing on your normal daily routine!"

"Just…try to remember. We don't have much time, and I'm not leaving her. I'd just like a slightly informed opinion before I go and accidentally injure her even further," Dusty said.

"I don't know. It all depends on the injury, and how badly it's impeded her already. It can't be good that she hasn't gained consciousness since she's gotten here," Sana said. Dusty nodded.

"So does that mean I should go for it?" Dusty asked, looking at Rachel nervously. It was so far to go, and she severely doubted they would be able to make it down from the roof. Sana exhaled, her breath sounding unsure but defeated.

"I don't see how we have much of a choice. I don't think she'll live without proper medical attention. It's best to try our best to get her to where she needs to be. Does James need to carry her?" Sana asked, her voice still soft. Dusty shook her head.

"I will for now. But I need you two to keep close. I don't know the way to the front door, and I am sure not going to climb down a three story building with her on my back. Plus if any fighting breaks out, I'll need to hand her off to James, so I'll have my hands free. Got it?"

"Dusty, how did this happen?" Sana's voice was suddenly pleading. Dusty turned to face Sana, confused.

"How did what happen?" She asked. Sana bit her lip nervously, looking around the room and swallowing, obviously trying to fight back tears, and trying to fight through some sort of confusion.

"How did you become one of them? You're not a vengeful person, you don't want to hurt people like they do. What happened?" Dusty looked down. She didn't want to have this conversation. Not here, not now. But this was exactly where it was coming and it was not the sort of thing you could put off. Not at this time. Not when the possibility of both of the participants dying the next half hour was very high. Dusty sighed and turned to her.

"I promise that I will explain everything more in full when we have time. But for now," She took a deep breath. "Some people are able to take tragedy, and hurt, and heartache and just let it flow out of them. I wasn't one of those people. I'm still not. When something bad happens, I want to scream, shout, hurt, do _anything_ to make that awful feeling go away. That's what happened. My parents died, I hurt, I went, tried to make it go away, and just made everything worse by going to the people who would teach me to hurt others, even if I didn't know it at the time. I didn't want to do the things they do, so I left. Does that help?" She asked, her tone soft and pleading. Sana nodded, her eyes showing that while it wasn't nearly enough in the long run, it would be enough for now. Then she nodded at Rachel.

"Keep her head above her heart. Whatever trauma there is, just try to keep her head and neck steady, and her head above her heart." Dusty nodded, and then leaned down. She hoisted Rachel up, grateful that Rachel was in a warm pajama outfit of a fleece shirt and pants. Whatever was out there, exposure wasn't something that Dusty wanted to deal with on top of everything else.

With Rachel safe in her arms she turned toward the door. Sana quietly opened and closed the door of the cell, locking it for good measure, and then did the same to her own prison. There were no windows in the door, and with any luck, it would slow them down, especially since Sana pocketed the key. Then, with extreme nervousness, the four adults prepared to exit the room.

"I want you all to be silent," Dusty said before they entered the hallway, "You'll make enough noise with the way you walk. If you have a question, touch my forearm, and only my forearm. James, I want you on my right. If anything goes wrong, and there is a _huge_ chance of things going wrong, I want you right where you can catch Rachel. Your life depends on it." She turned to Sana.

"I want you behind James. You are to be the rearguard, and if you see anyone, touch my shoulder immediately. Even if he doesn't see us, I want to be aware. And James, if Rachel chooses now to join the waking world, stifle her. I don't care if it means to sit on her head. Make her be quiet. Everyone got it?" Sana and James nodded. Rachel laid there, her face emotionless. James and Sana looked out the door, looking for guards.

Dusty looked down into Rachel's face, "Hold on there," Dusty whispered, "We still need you here." Rachel didn't respond, but something filled Dusty with a calm peace. She wasn't sure what it meant, but all the apprehension melted away, leaving her senses sharp and unsullied.

"All right." Dusty said, her voice low and severe, "Let's go."

* * *

I didn't realize that it was essentially all one scene... Wow.

Well, I'll keep this short since my eyeballs are dropping out from exhaustion, but thanks to Bryt (It's kind of summer - I've been quite occupied and haven't remembered in time... But I promise starting this week I'll send it to you on Thursday...), suchicken ( :D mua. ha. ha...) and legally-insane93 (Thank you SO MUCH! I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I've tried hard to make it more so, especially in recent chapters. Hopefully this was at least decent, even though my contacts are drying up constantly...)

Did you guys realize that we only have 12 or 13 chapters left? Wow! And in 2 weeks GoR will be 1 year old on . All these milestones.

Well, I need to run to bed quickly!

~Sabre


	47. Chapter Forty Six: Inquisition

Here it is!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six

They slipped silently into the hall. Dusty looked around nervously, holding Rachel tightly to her chest, feeling, once again, very grateful for Bruce's strength training. Quickly they made their way down the flight of stairs and through winding hallways. The hallways themselves were only about eight feet long each, and were each identical, erected seemingly for the sole purpose of slowing escapees down. It was working too. She was sure they had doubled back and forth at least five times.

On top of all this, she was also starting to realize how tired she was. Looking at her clock, she realized that it was almost two thirty in the morning. Sana was also looking a little worse for wear. At one point she actually paused and threw Sana a concerned look, questioning with her expression. Sana waved it off, motioning for them to move on. Cautiously, Dusty did so, but made sure to glance back every once in a while. She wasn't sure what would happen if Sana were to collapse. No matter how much she was sure he'd worked out, James couldn't carry two people in an emergency, especially in the extremely sketchy physical state he was in currently.

They walked on in silence for another twenty minutes. They paused, looking around extremely carefully before entering a large room, seemingly empty.

They were halfway through the room when Sana gripped her shoulder with such intensity it almost made her jump. Only, by that time, she saw them too. Or at least, she saw him.

Watson stood in front of the door, his arms crossed and his expression dark, as if he were more disappointed than anything else. Keeping her own expression carefully neutral, Dusty turned and calmly handed Rachel to James, then turning back to Watson.

"Justine."

"Watson," She intoned back, never breaking eye contact. They both took three measured steps forward, ending up about nine feet apart.

"I didn't expect you here. Of course, when I found my two watchdogs on the floor of the prisoner block, you were the first person to come to mind," He said conversationally. Dusty smiled thinly with just a hint of satire.

"I'm flattered. I suppose you noticed my trademark as well?"

"Who could miss the nail marks?" He said, moving closer, his hands away from his body in a phony state of trust. She stepped forward as well. There was no need to let Watson get too close to her friends. If he took one of them, she didn't know what she would be able to do against it. Nevertheless, Dusty pulled up a lazy smile and tone and replied.

"That's why they call it a trademark. If it weren't noticeable, it wouldn't mean a thing," She said. They were about four feet apart now. The fear, which had taken ages to appear, was roiling in her stomach, and the buzz of panic was starting to create a din in her mind. And then she really looked at him, and it stopped. There, beneath the scars, beneath the frown, and the coarse skin, there was just a man, as mortal as she was. She blinked, her heart suddenly confused.

Then he swung at her, a roundhouse kick to the head. Ducking in the knick of time, she slid closer to him and threw her elbow into his stomach hard before darting away. Sana blinked. She'd almost missed the move entirely, except for Dusty's movement to the opposite end of the room. Of all the things her friend had not told her, she couldn't believe that Dusty could've hid something so completely.

It was as if this wasn't Justine Grayson. The woman in that suit was something else entirely. The fierce expression on her face was burned into Sana's mind as she blocked a swing at her abdomen, and in turn tried to do the same move on Watson, though adding a feint to the right. It wasn't the expression of a scientist and mechanic. It was the face of a warrior. No, it was more than that - it was the look of cunning and skill, and most of all courage. To be poetic, it was the face of a dragon.

Dusty spun, her arm catching the side of Watson's neck, bringing him down. He rolled over his shoulder onto his feet again, spinning to try and catch her head with another roundhouse kick. Instead, Dusty dropped to the floor, knocking his leg out from under him, and then as he was going down, leaping up and delivering a quick one-two kick in the chest, knocking him backwards. As for Dusty, instead of simply landing, she used the massive amount of momentum and completed a backwards aerial, landing safely on her feet. Then she paused, waiting. Watson was on the floor, gasping for breath, Dusty's double kick had knocked the wind out of him. On the other hand, to Sana's ultimate satisfaction, Dusty was calm and cool, ready for any attack.

"You've gotten better," He said, rising to his feet. Dusty studied him carefully, not responding. The lungs were right, the pain was right, but the eyes…The eyes were not right. He saw her studied look, and then dropped the act, swinging at her, grabbing her arm as she moved to block his swing, and scoring a hit directly in her ribcage. Dusty could almost feel the bones bend to their breaking point, but thankfully she had started pulling away that when the blow connected, no real damage was scored. Instead she threw her weight on his arm, pulling them both to the floor. There she threw the heel of her hand once – twice – three times into his stomach. After that, he rolled away and they both drew away, both somewhat breathless.

Then Watson looked at her with an expression that was anything but self-assured. He now seemed to be thinking about what he would do and say.

"Justine, I have a proposition," He said, his voice slightly strained. Dusty remained a safe six feet away, wary to any sudden move he made.

"What kind of proposition?" She asked, her voice unnaturally loud in the dark, empty room.

"The kind where you respectfully surrender," He said, gingerly straightening. Her expression was immediately incredulous, and the words that followed did nothing to dissuade that course of tone.

"And why would I do that?" She asked. Watson smiled, a handsome smile, but one that displayed his sadism like a genuinely ugly stain.

"Well, your friends would probably prefer that you do, because if you don't, they'll die," Dusty half turned, keeping one eye on Watson, and with the other surveying the predicament that her friends were now in. mentally kicking herself for allowing the dozen or so henchmen to close in on them while she was occupied, she turned back to Watson, her face so ferocious it made more than one person present wonder if she was going to leap at Watson's neck.

"If you hurt them, Watson, I swear I'll-"

"You seem in no position to be making such demands," He cut her off neatly. She was quiet for a moment, but her expression lost none of its fury. Then she swallowed, and a little of the hatred left her eyes. She took another minute to compose herself and then she spoke.

"If I did-" Her voice was quiet, but deadly serious.

"Dusty, NO!" Sana yelled, "You can't do this! The man is certifiably insane!" Montague, who had materialized out of nowhere, covered her mouth with a gloved hand. He soon let go with a yelp, when her high-heeled shoes came in contact with his shins, with considerable force. However, once she was freed and a good three feet away, she remained silent, unsure what Dusty would say.

"If I did," Dusty said again, her face grim, almost grey, and her voice barely under control. What emotion lay underneath, Sana did not know, "Would my friends, meaning James McTaverly, SeQuina Tormont, and Rachel Dawes, be allowed to leave the premises safely without obstruction of any kind and never be sought after again?" She was awfully specific, and for a moment Sana wasn't sure what was going through Watson's mind, before a perfectly malicious smile crossed his face, and he nodded.

"Yes, Dusty. They would. We would even call an ambulance for Ms. Dawes, if you would prefer it," He said. Dusty swallowed and closed her eyes briefly.

"I would, and I honorably surrender," She said. Sana opened her mouth to scream, but only a harsh, strangled noise would come out. James seemed to be in shock. Even Montague, who had been readying himself for a fight in behalf of his master stood there, frozen in place by in utter astonishment. However, Watson smiled again, a much calmer smile, but even more malicious. Then he held out his hand.

"Will you please give your cell phone to me, Mrs. Wayne?" Watson said. "We wouldn't like you alerting anyone." Dusty smiled, and pulled out her phone compliantly, but instead of putting it into Watson's hand, she placed in Sana's hand, the owner of which who had been escorted over to Dusty.

"Ms. Tormont will keep my phone, if you please. I have no doubt she will take care of it. That is, if you could _possibly_ entrust something like a person who actually has permission to take it." Dusty lifted her eyebrows challengingly. Watson, a little put out, gruffly nodded, and Sana's small hand closed around the cell phone. Dusty and Sana's eyes met briefly. In Dusty's dark eyes, Sana suddenly saw the fear – Dusty was petrified. She didn't know what was going to happen, but was willing to do anything for the life of her friends. Sana's heart filled to bursting, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Dusty, are you sure you want to do this?" She whispered. Dusty breathed in sharply, and whatever emotion Sana had seen was now tucked away inside of her. Dusty's demeanor was now very reassuring and calming, no matter the storm Sana knew was raging on the inside.

"Don't worry, Sana. Everything will work out. Believe me," She said reassuringly. Dusty's eyes locked with Sana's, and Dusty annunciated every word carefully, "Everything will work out."

Then Watson's low tenor voice broke in, ordering Montague to action. "Call an ambulance, then take them outside, and give them the keys to Mr. McTaverly's car. Then make sure Ms. Dawes is safely away before letting them drive away. No infringement must be made upon the agreement." He gave Dusty a penetrating look. "Then I want you to come back here. There are a few things to be dealt with concerning Mrs. Wayne." She held his gaze stoically, then shuddered microscopically when he looked away from her.

Montague nodded and then led the trio of freed prisoners from the room. As soon as they were gone, Watson turned to her and spoke in a low, deadly voice.

"Now, Mrs. Wayne, let the games begin."

* * *

Once Rachel was safely away, Montague handed James the key to their car, and then waited until they had driven away and around the corner of the block before going back in. As soon as they were around the said corner, Sana dug out her phone.

"Who are you calling?" James demanded, trying to keep his eyes on the road as well as on what Sana was doing. He now saw that it was, in fact, Dusty's phone.

"Calling Bruce!" Sana said, her voice harsh as she scrolled through the contacts list.

"What do you think he'll be able to do? Extremely large and fit notwithstanding, these people are trained mercenaries. He'd have to be one of them to get Dusty out of there," James said, suddenly keenly aware that Dusty had used the same argument against him over three hours earlier. Three in the morning…The crazy things people did for love.

Sana, however, did not buy his words, "Dusty knew the Batman. What if Bruce knows him too? What if he could get the Batman to save her?"

"For goodness' sake, Sana, Batman isn't a superhero! He's some crazy guy in a cape who happens to know karate!"

"Who happened to uncover a conspiracy at Arkham Asylum a few years, as well as saving more peoples' lives than you have fingers and toes!" Sana shot back. Then she found the phone number, "There it is. Now be quiet, I'm going to talk to him."

She pressed 'talk' and held the phone up to her ear. Noting that it was three in the morning, she knew he wasn't going to take this news particularly well, but she just didn't know any other way to help Dusty.

* * *

Dusty had removed her armor at Watson's insistence. She now felt very exposed in only a T-shirt and black pants. It was also very cold, and the draft coming in from all of the corners of the warehouse made goose bumps stand out up and down her arms. Montague entered the room.

"Ah. Now, all the players are present. Shall we begin?" He asked. Dusty opened her mouth.

"What do you want with me? Or do I need to ask?" She said, her voice soft. Her fear was mounting. When it was just her and Watson, with every available weapon in her arsenal at the ready, she was safe. Now, here, with enemies hemming her in, not even protected from the cold, she was utterly defenseless.

"Well, seeing how you are here, with no previous engagements to get in the way, I suppose we will do as we should have done almost two years ago."

"Which is?"

"Your trial, Mrs. Wayne. Your trial, your indictment, and finally, your execution."

Every fiber in Dusty's body wanted to scream, to fight to get away. She wanted to run for miles and miles, to disappear without a trace, with no hope of anyone ever finding her again. But here she was, surrounded by dozens of men who wanted to kill her, and she was powerless to stop any one of them without ending her life prematurely, even by their standards. There wasn't anything she could do, so she stood silently, gravely, taking what should have been the inevitable and –

That was it. The whole thing clicked, and suddenly Dusty felt even more thoughtless and dense than before. Why there had been no guards on the roof, why there hadn't been at least six guards guarding the prisoners, why Watson hadn't shot her outright when he had confronted her here in the main room.

It was all a set up. They wanted her in the exact position she was now in. And now that she was in it, there was no way out of it alone. Closing her eyes against a sudden jolt of regret and pain, she sighed.

Time to own up. There was no way to avoid it now.

* * *

"Justine Grayson Wayne, you stand accused of treason to the League of Shadows, as well as attempted murder of a main member of the aforementioned company," Watson said. It was a mock trial, by no means unbiased, and the following twenty-five minutes followed a list of crimes, that, while the acts were true, they had been blown out of proportion, and had taken completely out of context. And yet, anger did not fill her soul. For the life of her, all she could think of was her last birthday. Dorothy Mendelssohn's face filled her mind, followed by Judy's and then Rachel's.

They were victims. Victims of a reaction to heartbreak and betrayal. And then she remembered her promise at the graveside of her parents. "_I want you to know, that I'm going after Watson. And I promise you that I will not stop until either I am dead or he is locked away for good._" She wouldn't be able to do it. Here she was, at their non-existent mercy, bound, and awaiting an impending indictment and execution.

"Justine Grayson Wayne, what do you plead? Guilty or not-guilty?" Dusty didn't want to answer. Whatever she said, they would throw back into her face unscrupulously. But each person present - could they even be called human anymore? - Expected her to answer. So she would answer, but not, perhaps in the way they expected her to.

"I plead both," She said, her voice ringing without the room, not betraying the fear she was trying not to feel. Then softer, a tremor running through her voice. "I plead both, Watson. I did do those things, but without the malicious intent that you seem to think is inbred in my spirit. Yes, I suppose that your life was threatened when I threw a highly combustible material at you, but did you ever stop to consider that I was threatened at the same time?"

Watson's look was enigmatic, staring at her as if he couldn't decide what she was. "How were you threatened, Mrs. Wayne?" His voice was soft, but the words were clipped, as if she had a chance to sway the unbalanced jury in her favor. It was the voice of a threatened man. So, throwing her heart and soul into her words and tone, she spoke in an entreating tone.

"I was threatened when you tried to force me to go against my moral center and murder an entire village of innocents. I was threatened when you tried to kill me multiple times in revenge for a crime that I never committed. If you think I am a traitor, how could I possible be a traitor to an organization that I never fully aligned myself with?" Her voice had grown into powerful expression of her nature and somehow she felt that everyone could see straight through her to her very core.

She didn't feel guilty, and Watson knew that she wasn't. Looking into his cold blue eyes, she saw a small struggle. It was the smallest skirmish, one that did not change her fate one bit, but triumph blossomed through her chest like a swarm of butterflies. If she could plant a seed of doubt in his heart, then certainly she could do so with others. Then his eyes hardened once again. She took another deep breath and felt peace. She knew she was going to die, but at least she had spoken her bit, and that was what mattered. When Watson spoke, his voice was harsh.

"You aligned yourself the moment you dialed that phone number that night in October. People are punished for the things that they have done, not on the regret they feel afterwards. Injustice has been done, and there must be justice to even the balance. No, you were never a complete member of the League of Shadows, Mrs. Wayne, but you were with us long enough to observe what we were doing, and _you did not act_!"

"If I did not act it was only because you were hiding your real intent from my eyes until I was blinded by the hate that you nourished!" She protested, standing up a little taller. If she had been incredulous before, this sent all former incredulity through the roof and then some.

"You were not asked to speak!"

"_This is no trial!_" Dusty shouted. Her breath was heavy and ragged from the anger that was pulsing through her. She could feel her heartbeat in her head, pounding through her skull like a kettledrum. She calmed her voice slightly. "Watson, if this were a trial, there would be an unbiased judge, one that would hear both of our cases, and decide without any sympathy toward either side who was at fault. Yes, there were things I shouldn't have done; yes, I have made mistakes. But one of those mistakes was ever believing that you were a good man. You are a selfish man with murderous intent, who believes in an organization that cannot even have its name revealed without fear of legal action. What kind of belief can stem from that? If any wrong is done from separating myself from something like that, it is in the principle of leaving something unfinished. But that is a job for a parent or mentor to correct, and believe me when I say, Watson, you are neither of those," She said, her voice forceful and angry, almost hoarse with the passion that she spoke with. Watson's expression turned livid. Using excessive violence, he slammed down a crude wooden gavel, cracking the handle.

"Obviously, through contempt of court, and her excessive use of trying to condemn the court, she is guilty herself. Therefore, she will now suffer execution. Bring out my whip."

Dusty's eyes widened, and immediately began to struggle. Using the chain she had attached to one wrist, she had yanked it out of the hands of the goon that held it, brought it around and knocked her captor cold before any of those present could blink. Then swinging around, she pulled a roundhouse on the other one holding her chains and bolted toward the door. Four, five, _six_ large burly men in black brought her down after less than six steps. With them collectively dragging her toward Watson, she struggled even more. Montague held her around the neck, and were it not for another one holding her arm, she would have elbowed him in the stomach for all that she was worth.

Walking toward her leisurely, Watson looked at her, heaving and struggling against the multiple men, many of whom were twice as large as her, who held her.

"Now, my dear Justine, you will die."

* * *

Since there were no reviews last chapter, I don't have anyone to thank, however, I would like to thanks J.B. Wolfe for her amazing-ness. She is one of the main inspirations for Dusty, and I really don't know what I'd do without her.

Please review!

Until next week!

~Sabre


	48. Chapter Forty Seven: Valediction

Sorry it's a bit late. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Seven

She stood silently as they pulled her arms away from her body and chained them to two sturdy poles in the room. One of Watson's stooges had gone to get the horrific barbed bullwhip. Dusty had seen the injuries that had been resulted from that whip, and it was not something that she necessarily wanted. No, she definitely didn't want it. Yet, she didn't move. It was as if she had accepted her fate. It was true, sort of. She had accepted that, alone, she could do nothing.

"Is she ready?" She heard Watson ask in a low voice. It was as if she wasn't in herself. From the perspective she had suddenly taken on, she could see Montague, who was at present behind her, securing a leather strap that inhibited her movement even more than normal. Montague looked up and nodded. "Good," Watson said. He came up behind Dusty, and put his hands on her shoulders. "Well, Justine. I suppose this is it," He whispered in her ear, "As you stand here, I want you to think very carefully about what you've done. Before you die, I want you to scream out your guilt. Are you ready?"

Dusty remained staring forward, not answering. He smiled.

"Well then, we'll begin. Ready? NOW!" A sharp crack snapped through the room, and a sharp stifled gasp cut through the silence Again, another sharp crack and another cut off sound. Again and again. Tears streamed down Dusty's face, unseen to Watson, who was not only behind Dusty, but half-blind with building rage and insanity. Dusty felt the flesh in her back being torn, and blood running in rivulets down her back, the pain ripping through her, ten thousand times stronger than anything she had ever felt but she refused to cry out. She knew that Watson would be satisfied, and she refused to give him that.

"Scream, Justine! Scream!" He howled, throwing all that he had into every swipe of the cruel whip.

"No!" She whispered, transforming all the pain to anger, letting it turn her blood cold, grasping at the chains with her hands. "I will not!" Another sharp crack. She barely kept the cry in this time, biting the inside of her lip with exertion. Suddenly she tasted blood on the inside of her mouth, and a sharp sting as the cold air hit it.

"SCREAM!" The man was certifiably insane. She could see his expression clearly in her mind, his eyes wide, and his face coated in an expression of indescribable hatred. She shuddered. She could feel herself slipping, though against what, she didn't know. Black was edging in on her vision. Curiously, the pain was ebbing. Along the sidelines of the silent room, Montague could see that her eyes were starting to glaze over, the effects of rapid blood loss and shock were starting to set in, and blood was starting to drip from her lip, where he had seen her bite it. The darkness he was sure she had started to descend into was one he was sure she would never wake up from.

Suddenly he heard something out of the ordinary. It was an odd scraping noise. He turned, and was met with a flash of an out-of-place, yet familiar face. Then everything went black.

* * *

Dusty was barely holding on, dry heaving with every breath. While the pain was ebbing, it still jolted through her with every crack of the whip. She tried to stay conscious, knowing the darkness she was slipping into was something she'd never come out of, but it was out of her hands now. Her eyes slipped closed, her grip slackened, and her mind faded into oblivion.

Watson saw her go limp. He wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop until she had breathed her last. He drew back, ready to lay the hardest lash yet across her already heavily bleeding back. As he swung forward, however, a large black mass barreled into him carrying him to the floor. Quick as a cat, Watson rolled to his feet, readying himself for another attack. He looked up to take in his opponent, and saw Bruce Wayne, angrier than Watson had seen anyone in his life. At the look of absolute loathing that Watson saw in that man's hard stare, Watson felt a stab of fear carry through him. Although Watson was no weakling, Bruce Wayne out weighed him by at least twenty-five pounds, as well as being close to three inches taller, and had a much wider shoulder span. The man was a mountain, and something told Watson that experience may not do it for him this time.

He looked around for Montague. Watson saw him, lying spread-eagle on the ground twenty-five yards away, out cold, an angry looking knot developing on his forehead. Wayne laughed, a cold, merciless sound.

"Some henchman you got there." With that, and a lightning fast move, Bruce moved toward Watson, connecting with his ribs, grabbing the back of his jacket and throwing Watson away from himself toward a pillar with all the ease of a child throwing a stuffed toy. As Watson was regaining his feet, somewhat unsteadily, Wayne circled about him. "About as good as his leader, you might say."

Bruce had seen Dusty pass out. He wasn't even sure how she had lasted twenty-five minutes of a whipping that most grown men wouldn't have lasted through without screaming and pleading for Watson to stop. As for Watson himself, Bruce was almost surprised at the absolute hatred he felt towards the despicable man. He'd long since gotten over the most vehement feelings toward Ra's, finding in him a strength he didn't know he had, but this feeling toward a man who hadn't even done anything to him personally was new. Sauntering toward Watson again, who was now on his feet, he kept his face neutral, but kept an eye out for any of Watson's cronies. Before Montague, he had subdued about twelve men, all those that he could see. Now, it seemed, only Watson remained, and the older man was starting to realize it.

Watson moved forward, faster than Bruce expected him to, and landed a kick in Bruce's stomach, the brunt of which he twisted hard to avoid. Bruce swung back, a swing that Watson barely deflected, and had to jump backward to avoid a jab to the diaphragm that Bruce had aimed carefully. The fight moved on quickly, the two fighters moving in close, backing up, kicking, and punching, until Bruce got the final say in the matter. Watson was no fumbler, but as Bruce ducked a swing by Watson, he threw one sharp punch into the man's ribcage. He heard an audible crack as at least two of the man's ribs broke, and Watson fell backward, cracking his head on the wall as he went down. Bruce paused, looking at the older man for any signs of consciousness. How he wanted to drag this man's sorry hide to the nearest police station for him to rot for the rest of eternity. But there was someone else far more important. Bruce left him there, obviously unconscious, and ran over to Dusty, who was still slumped between the two poles, hanging from her arms in an unnatural position.

"Dusty." He whispered, loosening one side, and then the other, letting her fall carefully into his arms. He look a quick look at her back, and had to wince. Flesh was exposed, and the flesh itself looked torn. From the look of it there was also a chance of spinal damage. Carefully, ever so carefully, he let her down on the floor on her stomach. Taking a miniature first aid kit from his belt, he pulled out the antiseptic and the gauze. It was the best he could do for now. It wasn't enough, though, not nearly enough.

* * *

Lights spun, and Dusty felt the wind rush past her. In fact, it almost felt like she was on a roller coaster, she opened her eyes. The room was in a blur. That was weird. Did they have roller coasters in heaven?

Or even in…well, technically, considering what she went through, she hoped she wouldn't be there, but she'd have to open her eyes again. Peeling them ajar, she looked around. Nothing came into focus. Strangely, her back didn't hurt. In fact, the moving air around her was soothing, and the movement created a feeling of security and peace. Shutting her eyes, she sighed and faded back to sleep.

* * *

She woke up in a dark room. She felt stiff all over and was aware that the room wasn't spinning anymore. However, a dull pain in her back was starting to grow into the back of her mind. This, she supposed, is was the reason she woke up. It also occurred to her that she probably wasn't dead, seeing how when you died all of your wounds were supposedly supposed to heal, or at least not hurt.

Then again, it wasn't like anyone had ever really come _back_. Except, of course, certain Bible characters and things like that. She opened her eyes. The room was dark of course. As she started to look around ignoring the pulling sensation in her back, she started to see strange things. Machines, poles, lights… Another bed?

"Dusty?" A hoarse voice to her left made her jump. Pain flared across her back. She gasped, her breath suddenly lost. Two strong hands steadied her, and soothed her with their touch as she regained her breath. "I'm sorry, Dusty. Can you see me?" She looked up at the owner of the hands. His face was so strong, so reassuring. She sighed and settled back into her bed as comfortably as she could.

"Yes, Bruce, I can see you. Where are we?" She asked. Her voice was just as hoarse as his. He smiled at her, though his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"We're at the hospital, Dusty. After what Watson did to you…" His eyes filled with pain, and Dusty thought, even through the dark, she could see some of the hopelessness that he had gone through. "Well, you're going to have to stay here for a while," He said, brushing back a few strands of hair from her face. Dusty frowned despite the comforting touch.

"How long is 'a while'?" She asked, whispering so the vibrations didn't hurt her back. Breathing was a big enough trial anyway. He sighed.

"Close to a month, if the doctors are correct." At her shocked look, his face fell even further, "There's nothing I can do, Dusty. Maybe if I had gotten there sooner, I-" his voice broke, and he looked away, his face halfway between impassive and furious. Slowly, ignoring the sudden screaming pain that erupted in her back, she reached up and touched his forearm, trying to soothe him however she could.

"Bruce, it's okay. I know," She said, before she couldn't take it anymore, and dropped her hand. He looked up at her, and touched her face.

"Do you?" He whispered. She smiled sadly as he traced her cheekbone with his thumb.

"That horrible, scraping feeling when you realize that your best wasn't enough?" She paused, her throat hoarse and sore. She saw Bruce nod. "It's practically my best friend. I've made so many mistakes, Bruce." She smiled softly, though the pain in her eyes was more than just the aching in her back. "I don't know how I'll live through them, sometimes, but I believe that everything will be all right in the end."

Bruce smiled and caressed her cheek once more. "I hope everything will be all right, Dusty."

She tried to smile back, but what did surface didn't reach her eyes.

* * *

The next week flew by in a haze of pain relievers, doctors and roses. The morning after she was admitted, she looked in the mirror that was installed at the foot of her bed, and saw that the bed next to her was occupied – Rachel lay there, still unmoving, and after she asked about it, she was told that Rachel had not woken up since she was admitted. Toward the end of the week, Dusty was able to turn her head, move her arms, and for about five minutes at a time, could sit up on her own. Rick and Alfred visited as often as they could, and between taking care of both Dusty and Rachel, Bruce was almost a permanent resident of the hospital himself.

Eight days after she entered the hospital, however, everything changed. It was about eleven o'clock at night, Bruce had been out and about in the city for the past four hours or so, and was due back any minute. Dusty lay awake on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to think about anything but the growing pain in her back. She realized she could call the nurses at any time to administer some more pain medication, but she hated being knocked out by the stuff they used, and they absolutely refused to give her anything with less kick. Besides, Bruce was due back any time, and he could distract her.

She sighed. She was becoming a lot more reliant on Bruce now that she couldn't do as many things for herself. On one hand, it bothered her. She'd always been a very independent person, and she didn't like the fact that she was so needy at the moment. On the other hand, whenever he entered the room, whether he came empty-handed, or with some tool that she had requested to bring her from home, such as mail, her computers, or tools, her heart started fluttering. Not surprisingly, she had looked at the materials she had to work with here in her hospital room, and out of sheer boredom had started to invent a machine that would dispense toothpicks, taking parts from the lamps, the couch, and her hospital bed. The hospital staff had not been amused.

It wasn't as if the bed didn't work any more, it was just that without a certain hydraulics system, the bed needed a more manual way of reclining than just pressing a button. Wasn't it good for them that they could do more physical exercise?

Well, at least Bruce laughed when they told him that she had dismantled a hospital bed without getting out of it. And then he asked how on earth she actually got the thing out from under her bed.

And then Rick got in trouble.

Dusty winced in the dark, remembering the look that both Alfred and Bruce had given the poor boy, especially when they walked in while he was handing her the last few bits... And then they looked at her the same way. What did they expect? Just because she was nearly thirty years old didn't mean she couldn't corrupt her younger brother if she wanted to. And it wasn't like the hospital bed cost more than Bruce's average toy anyway. She sighed and leaned back. What she really wanted was an easy chair. And a good book. But, considering only the cantankerous night nurses were on duty, she doubted she would get either, especially since it was almost midnight, and she couldn't really sit up for that long anyway.

She looked around again, trying to get something carry her away like her last train of thought. It wasn't working. Suddenly, she heard a noise. Her first instinct was to sit up and look over at whatever had made the noise. At the moment, however, it seemed that course of action wouldn't quite work. So, as quickly and as quietly as possible, she pressed the 'up' button on her new hospital bed, and looked over to her left, toward Rachel's bed. She switched on her lamp, the only one of three that still worked. She winced again. She had to keep reminding herself that the things around her were not hers.

It was hard, especially since as long as she could remember, she had basically everything she wanted at her fingertips. Dusty kept watching Rachel. She looked to be in a slightly different position than she had been in. Could it be that she…?

Rachel groaned and moved. Dusty caught her breath.

"Rachel!" Dusty whispered fiercely. She looked around helplessly. What could she do? She looked around, looking for what she needed. Ah, there it was. Reaching out, she grabbed her reaching stick, and unlatching the latch on the side bar on the left side of her bed. Then reaching over, she unlatched the one near the head of her bed. Then, ever so carefully, she threw off her covers, and she sat up, her feet going over the side of her bed, and she turned, trying to keep her back straight, although the damaged muscles in her back tore at her. Grabbing at the side bar on Rachel's bed, she stood, the stitches in her back pulling uncomfortably and painfully in all these different directions.

Dusty now stood over her, and touched her arm. "Rachel." then Rachel opened her eyes.

"Dusty?" She asked. Rachel surveyed Dusty's face and her hair - half down around her shoulders and hanging down around her elbows, and then finally noticed Dusty's baggy blue hospital gown. "Where are we? There was a man – My head hurts…" She trailed off, grimacing and moving her hand carefully up to her face.

"That was Watson, Rachel. You've been in a coma for over two weeks," Dusty whispered, trying to block the pain that was rapidly surfacing, gripping the bar in front of her tightly. Rachel blinked, confused.

"I – I don't know, Dusty… I don't think…"

"What?" Dusty felt bad for interrupting her, but maybe if she gave her a little time to gather her thoughts…

"I don't think I can hold on… for much longer. I'm…I think I'm dying, Dusty."

"No!" One part of Dusty's brain was in denial, and the other seemed to realize how clichéd this was. And then, on a whole, a deep part of her just hurt. Not from her back. In fact, until she thought this, it had toned down somewhat, but her heart and soul ached at the thought of losing one of her friends. Then a feeling of disgust with herself set in for being so analytical at a time like this.

"Dusty, don't make this harder than it is… please. Just…know that…I don't blame you. Watson told me about you…and about some of the choices…that you've made…" She sighed. Dusty glanced over at the monitors. Her heartbeat was dropping. "I…know…what Bruce told me…about your parents…"

Dusty sniffled, "Rachel, I don't think I agree with you. I was angry; I didn't know what I was doing. I left my little brother alone in a city that couldn't take care of itself. I reacted. That wasn't a good choice. You should blame me. You should blame everything that has happened to you on me. _You're dying because of me, Rachel!_" She whispered, agony etched into her voice; one soft, clear tear trickling down her cheek.

Rachel smiled the ghost of a smile, "But look how you've pulled out of it. You've seen the terrible things… that have happened… around you and chosen not to take part in those things…" She breathed in deeply, her breath seemingly rattling around in her chest. "And made… so much…out of what…you had to live with. I am dying… Dusty, but it's not your fault… You've become…so much more…"

"I don't feel like that." Dusty said, sharp stabbing pains piercing up through her neck.

"You probably won't…" She smiled as much as she could, "…for a while…until you see…the…bigger picture… Tell Bruce…he was the best…friend a girl…could ever have... He has a…good heart…Help him…remember that, Dusty. He'll…need to…be reminded soon…" Rachel closed her eyes. It seemed to be too much.

"Rachel, he'll be here soon. Wait for him. He'll be here any moment," Dusty said, her voice pleading and cracking with emotion. "I promise you, Rachel. Please, stay with me. We all need you. Me, Bruce, and everybody,." She said, her voice and lip trembling.

"Dusty…" Rachel breathed, her voice softer than ever, "…you'll be fine… without me."

"No we won't! It'll break Bruce's heart!"

"But you'll…be here…to heal it." Her eyes were closing. The needles on the machines were dropping. Somewhere in the nurse's office an alarm started to ring. "Dusty…I'm…not…" She stopped herself. "Everything…is…fine." She swallowed. "I'll…miss…you all…even…in…heaven." She opened her eyes. Dusty touched Rachel's face. It was so cold. "But…Dusty…Watson won't… let… you…be… until…you're… dead. Keep…steady…don't… let…him…win. Please. It's…your…soul…you're fighting…for." She looked up at Dusty with the last flicker of intensity that she could muster.

"I promise you, Rachel," Dusty said, taking Rachel's cold, waxy hand and tried to control her voice. "I promise you. He won't win…" she said before she broke down crying. She could begin to hear hurried footsteps running down the hallway. Rachel smiled, looking toward the doorway briefly before closing her eyes, and quietly slipping away.

Dusty couldn't say a word, but merely sunk to the floor, sobbing as Rachel's heartbeat monitor screamed.

"Dusty!" A loud male voice came from the doorway. Dusty didn't stir. Bruce's voice was too loud, she thought. Too loud for Rachel. Bruce surveyed the lighted lamp, the screaming monitor, and Dusty's empty bed. His first thought was that she somehow escaped, but then saw the top of her head over the bed; still grasping Rachel's limp hand and pieced everything together. "Rachel," he gasped, and ran into the room and to her bed. The head nurse for the ICU ran in, having received a beep and had run across the hospital as fast as her legs had carried her.

Bruce had pulled Rachel into his arms and was holding her cradled in his arms as his shoulders shook with silent tears. Dusty held her hand, sobbing openly, leaning against Bruce's leg. The nurse was unsure what to do, but observed the machine. There was nothing she could do, especially with the patient's living will, she decided, then walked over to the machine, and pulled the cord.

* * *

Thanks to GreenPurpleBlack, Lamminator, suchicken, Fishy Rainboots (Love the new name, FYI), and ixamxeverywhere for reviewing.

Also, thanks to Bryt, to whom I FINALLY got this chapter. You are incredible to me. Seriously. Keep being awesome.

Until next week!

~Sabre


	49. Chapter Forty Eight: Poets and Homes

Here you go!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight

The weeks passed slowly, January merging into February. Dusty wasn't allowed to go to Rachel's funeral, due to the additional trauma to her back and the additional medication she was taking. It seemed that all things bright and cheerful had been sucked out of her life. All Dusty wanted to do was lie there, feeling generally miserable. Rick and Alfred came in regularly, and Sana had dropped in every other day. Bruce still came, but he seemed preoccupied and didn't talk nearly as much as he used to, not to Dusty, and not to anyone, except maybe Rick.

Lying despondent in her bed, drowning out the world in her own thoughts, Dusty thought she understood, and felt the same. She tried to hold in everything, trying to work it all out herself, refusing to burden someone else with the problems that she once again had caused through own pride and obliviousness to the consequences of her actions. Unbeknownst to her, people noticed, especially those who were closest to her. Sana watched her one afternoon as they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

"What's wrong, Dusty?" She asked after sitting quietly in the room for a while, sipping her apple juice out of the cardboard carton it came in. Dusty looked up, a little startled, before sighing and facing forward again.

"Nothing, Sana. I'm sorry, I've just been a little depressed these days," She said, leaning her head back against the pillow behind her head and shutting her eyes. Sana snorted indelicately.

"Yeah, I kind of guessed that by the Prozac on your meds table," She said, rolling her eyes and resting her head against the tips of her fingers. Dusty frowned and looked away. Sana sighed loudly. "Come on, Dusty. Forgive my apathy, but you've been through a whole ton of stuff worse than this. You've been clean of antidepressants for almost six years. What's so different-"

"In case you didn't notice, Sana, one of my friends has _died,_" Dusty said icily, interrupting her friend. "What do you want me to do, go on smiling, acting like it never happened?" Sana put her juice down, the smile sliding off her face as if wiped off by a rag. She leaned forward, putting her hands on her knees, her eyes and tone intense.

"Dusty, it _did_ happen, and I'm sorry it did. But the fact is you can't change what happened. Things happen like all the time, and to you especially. But does that mean you should waste away just because one of your friends has gone to a better place?" Dusty kept her eyes trained on the blue fleece blanket on her bed. Sana knew she wouldn't get an answer out of her, so she barreled on. "No! In fact I think if Rachel was here, she'd tell you to get up and exercising so you can kick Watson's trash. Considering how much he's messed up your life, you should at least try to return the favor." She sat back, her tone a bit less intense and – truthfully – scathingly. Sana hated to treat her friend's feelings so harshly, but she knew Dusty, and sometimes a good rhetorical kick in the pants was better than all the pandering to her misguided needs in the world. Dusty's eyebrows furrowed, and she looked up at Sana.

"How do you do that?" Dusty asked, her voice soft and somewhat pleading. Sana was confused, and rather set back on her heels.

"Kick Watson's trash? Um, I'm not sure. To tell the truth I thought it was your department-"

"No, no, no, tell me what I've chosen to ignore." Dusty corrected, a small smile creeping up one side of her face before it lowered. Sana smiled. Dusty didn't know it, and would probably vehemently deny it, but she was gaining mannerisms from her husband – that smile the most prominent among them.

"I'm a near-sister friend. It comes with the job," Sana replied nonchalantly. She saw Dusty smile fractionally again. "The fact is, Dusty, and you should know this better than I do, the pain doesn't ever go away. But it becomes easier to manage after a time," Sana said, her voice softening, "And I believe in you."

"I know," Dusty whispered, her voice going slightly taut with withheld emotion. Sana stood up and went over to sit on the side of her bed.

"Well, you know what you have to do?" Sana asked. Dusty looked up at her, her face starting to glow with a self-assurance that Sana hadn't seen in a while.

"Kick Watson's trash?" She asked, that old half-smile creeping up her cheek again, the tone of her voice taking on her derring-do attitude once more. Sana smiled.

"I couldn't have said it better. Now grab your I.V. pole and your walker. We're going for a walk, and I'm having them take you off your Prozac medication." Dusty nodded, but held up a hand, pointing to the metal contraption in the corner.

"Fine. But please, Sana. I am _not_ using that old-person implement." Dusty complained, giving her friend a looked that was usually reserved for lawyers and paparazzi. Sana sighed, and dropped her head, as if tired of Dusty's antics then she looked up at her, a slight smile on her face

"Dusty, how old are you, girlfriend?" Sana asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Um, twenty-eight?"

"How old am I?" Dusty's voice dropped to a low, sulky tone.

"Twenty-six."

"Ergo?"

"Ergo where?" Dusty's tone was perfectly innocent, completely knowledgeable that she was mangling the English language. Sana's tone was innocent as well.

"Ergo, you _are_ old, Dusty. You are less than two years away from being thirty. Congratulations," Sana said smiling, the very vision of charm. Dusty sighed, and slunk back into her mattress. This only caused a twinge of discomfort, and on a comparison chart of all the pain she had endured, it wasn't even close to pain.

"Fine," She sighed sulkily. Throwing off her covers, she stood, grabbing the humiliating instrument from where Sana had pulled it over and standing shakily. Sana walked around the bed and grabbed Dusty's IV pole, accidentally knocking Dusty's latest book and her lamp off the table. Suddenly a strange man looked in. Dusty looked up, instantly on the alert, and painfully aware that she technically could do nothing. He had sandy blonde hair and alert blue eyes that took in the room as a whole, and object by object at the same time.

"Everything all right?" He asked in a deep, protective voice. Sana waved and nodded, picking up the lamp and book and setting them back on the table. Dusty stared after him as he turned around and left the room.

"Sana, who was that?" She asked, leaning over the walker, trying to get another view of him. Stranger or not, he was obviously trained and that intrigued her. Sana glanced at the door somewhat offhandedly.

"Um…that's Delaney. He's my bodyguard. Commissioner Gordon thought it would be safer if I had someone watching me, considering Watson wasn't picked up when Batman came to deal with him. He – well, Batman - brought you in too."

Dusty paled and leaned over as far as she dared to see how close he was to the doorway. After assessing his position, she leaned close to Sana, "You might have noticed this, but not a lot of people know about my relationship with Batman. Can…we keep this close to the vest, as it were?" Sana nodded. She didn't seem particularly troubled by this, and simply shrugged.

"No problem. You ready to go?" She asked, tilting her head to one side. Dusty smiled.

"Are you sure you could catch me if I fall?" She asked, half joking, half dead serious. Sana smiled.

"No, but I'm sure Delaney could get over faster than I could. Come on. No more delaying for you," She said, motioning toward the door impatiently. Slowly, stiffly, trying to seem as uninjured and non-handicapped as she possibly could, Dusty hobbled over to the door. It sort of worked. As she went through, she spotted Alfred coming up the hall, looking down at a few folders in his hand. He smiled as he looked up and saw her.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Wayne. I see you're up and moving again. I have good news for you," Alfred smiled, "You can be discharged tomorrow. I must say that Master Rick is incredibly excited for your return." Dusty's mouth opened in shock, then throwing caution to the wind, let out a wild whoop of pure joy, throwing her arms into the air. Then, she nearly hit her nose on her walker as she lost balance, and started to fall forward. Almost in a panic, Alfred caught her from the front while Sana and Delaney pulled her back from behind. As they hauled her back to her feet, Alfred offered a few sage words of advice.

"Might I suggest a little caution, Mrs. Wayne? You are not healed yet, although you are well on the mend, and I'm sure that Master Wayne would prefer to see you home tomorrow in one piece," He said, placing her hands firmly on the walker's handles, almost like he was reassuring himself as much as he was taking care of her. She smiled contentedly.

"I don't care. I can't wait to go home. I haven't been home for almost six weeks…it's been an eternity," She said, almost dramatically. Obviously the news of her discharge was making her a little more carefree than usual. Then a strange thought struck her. "Has Oscar come in yet?" She asked, "It's been over three months, he should have cleared quarantine by now."

As soon as the beast's name was mentioned, Alfred had taken on an almost pained look on his face. "I assume that by 'Oscar' you mean the yak that was brought in last week?" Her face lit up and she clapped her hands. Sana grabbed the back of Dusty's hospital gown to prevent another unintentional nose dive.

"This is the best day ever. How is he doing?" She asked enthusiastically. Alfred hid an unidentifiable emotion behind his butler mask.

"He appeared to be in full health, Mrs. Wayne."

"Wait," Sana looked confused, glancing between Dusty and Alfred, "You bought a _yak_?" Her expression was half incredulous, half hopelessly lost. Dusty smiled.

"The time has come, the Dusty said, to talk of many things," Dusty adlibbed, turning to start down the hall. "To talk of yaks and kidnapping plots, and cabbages and kings."

"You must be in a good mood." Sana remarked as she followed the 'poet' down the hall. "You hate poetry."

"'Doubtless!' said I, 'what it utters is the truth and more!'" Dusty shouted back as she hobbled back to her room. "Now, I have to go pack!"

"Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'" Sana said, rolling her eyes, then followed.

* * *

February 23rd, she left the hospital. Of course she thanked everyone from the top of the hospital down, but everyone could tell that she was pretty much psyched to get _out_. Bruce had come to pick her up – sometimes literally – and put on his 'I-am-now-a-responsible-reformed-playboy' smile as they went out to the car, reporter's cameras flickering like strobe lights. Dusty's public smile was firmly on her face, but she couldn't help asking Bruce, "Don't they have something better to do a news report on?"

He smiled and laughed a bit, "A billionaire's wife is bigger than any natural disaster," He said before opening the car door and helping her inside. Once inside, Dusty sighed and leaned her head against the back of the seat. She'd been hiding it well, but she was exhausted. She'd forgotten how easy it was for fatigue to come after illness or injury.

"Drat," She said, freezing while pulling on her seatbelt, a look of undeniable annoyance and downright peevishness. Bruce looked over, his eyes questioning.

"What's wrong?" He asked. She shook her head, pulling her hair back from her eyes.

"I just realized how long it's going to take me to recover. It's going to be… joyful," She said, with an ironic eye roll, "Go figure." He smiled faintly in return.

"Well, I can help you get back into the swing of things," he said, patting her arm. Dusty smiled back, suddenly unsure of herself.

"Thanks, Bruce," She said, placing her hand on his.

"No problem."

* * *

The whole 'invalid in her own home' thing was getting old fast. She wasn't allowed to go anywhere without her walker, forbidden to go down stairs by herself, and all of that meant, in fine, that she was to stay in her room at all times.

Ooh! Excitement!

Not.

At first it was all right, for the simple fact that it was a change of scenery. However, after she figured out that it took at least three minutes to totter over to the bathroom, which had no handrails, and thus made it extremely inconvenient, it lost about fifty percent of its novelty right then and there. Then, adding that Rick was at school and Alfred was apparently talking Bruce out of doing something dangerous (the acoustics in the house were uncanny, especially if her door was open, but she still wasn't sure if he was attempting to play with his power tools or feed the yak), things were exceptionally boring. She tried to read, but holding things up, especially in bed, was difficult and that experience made her think twice about doing anything. So she ended up laying in bed, flat on her back, soaking in the comforts of home. On the plus side, it did allow one to just sit and think. Well, mostly, anyway. If any of her thoughts at the moment were completely and utterly distracting. Which they weren't.

She sighed. It was just all so weird. Physically, as long as she stayed still and didn't move, she was fine. Mentally, as soon as she stopped moving, although new thoughts were always popping out at her, she still went somewhat brain-dead, sucked into the depths of absolute exhaustion. So she moved, the new skin on her back pulled uncomfortably and she had to stop moving and regain sanity.

If only it were a mealtime and she could at least do something that wouldn't pull her into endless monotony…

She woke up three hours later when Rick came in.

"Dusty! Are you okay? Sorry I didn't come to pick you up. Bruce said I had to go to school instead," He said, rolling his eyes and dropping his backpack on the floor as he walked over to his bed. She smiled and sat up, ignoring the uncomfortable pulling on her back.

"It's fine. I'm okay, just a little tired. Everything takes twice as much energy," She said sleepily. Rick smiled and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Alfred said I could help you downstairs for tea in an hour or so," He said. She smiled and nodded.

"That sounds good. Do you think you could help me over to the window seat first? I need a change of scene," She said, nodding in the direction of the window. Rick nodded and stood up. She felt so silly as she stood up shakily and leaned heavily on Rick. It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, with an extreme amount of ability and experience, and she couldn't even walk across her room without help. By the time she reached the window seat she was thoroughly disheartened, and only an approving look from Rick made her smile. He touched her hand, as if reading her mind.

"You shouldn't be discouraged because you can't walk all at once. All good things take time, and you were hurt really bad," He said tilting his head, trying to make her feel better. She sighed, and tried to keep the smile on her face. It just wasn't working.

"I know. It's just…I'm at home! I should be able to move as much as I want to, not wait for someone to come and help me. It takes so much more energy to do _anything_ and I just… I hate being so helpless," She said sighing, and sniffing back embarrassing tears. Rick gently hugged her around her shoulders. Dusty sighed and leaned her head against his, soaking in the comfort that her brother seemed to exude.

"You aren't helpless. You have a whole bunch of people to help you, and you can do a lot more than you realize," Rick said, giving her another comforting smile. Dusty didn't look convinced. Rick nudged her. "This is only your first day back. Keep working at it and it will get easier, and you'll get back to your old self in no time."

Dusty smiled, not convinced, but her spirits were rising. "If you say so, Captain Optimism," She said, carefully putting her arm around his shoulder. He smiled back, grinning and swaggering in a teasingly heroic fashion.

"And I do."

* * *

Two things before we go through the review thing:

I know there are a lot of people who are from different countries, and a lot of people who don't agree with what I'm about to say, but since this is my story, and thus my own personal soap box, I feel a need to ask for a moment of silence for those who died on September 11, 2001, nine years ago. Although many don't agree with me, I feel that any time a human life is lost, whether in service of their country, in service of their fellow men, taken unjustly or simply when it is lost by accident, it needs to be remembered. By remembering and acting on what we know and remember, we can end it. I don't know when or how it will happen, but it needs to be a goal of every single one of us.

Thanks. The second is less somber and politically charged, and that is that about 52 weeks ago, or about a year ago, on September 5th, I published the prologue of this story on FF. net. Ever since, I've done my best to update on time, and though I haven't always succeeded, I definitely appreciate the support and the amazing people that have given me advice and have taken time out of their schedules to read and review it. I can't express enough thanks.

From that, thank you to taytayfanatical (yes, I am) for reviewing.

Also, thanks to Bryt, who reminded me to hand the story over to her so she could go through it when she had time. Bryt, this is why you need to be my PA for the rest of my natural life. 'Nuff said.

Anyway, thanks so much!

Until Next week!

~Sabre


	50. Chapter Forty Nine: Cease!

Sorry it's so late in the day/evening/right/whatever...

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Forty-Nine

She saw her. She couldn't tear her eyes away from her, astonished that she could see her so clearly.

"Rachel?" Dusty's voice sounded echoic in the large front hall of Wayne Manor. "What are you doing here?" Rachel wasn't looking at her. Her gaze was directed down at her hands, a frown resting of what Dusty could see of her face. She didn't respond for a long time. Finally after a pregnant pause, Rachel looked up at Dusty, her eyes angry.

"What are _you_ doing here, Dusty?" She hissed. Dusty was confused.

"Rachel, I don't know what you mean…"

Rachel scoffed, "You're dead, Dusty. You died along with me at Watson's hand." Then she narrowed her eyes, "You died _before _me. I watched you die!"

Dusty couldn't get what was going on. "Rachel, I don't know what you're saying. I'm alive. I lived. I held your hand as you were dying! What are you saying?" Rachel's gaze hardened.

"Your soul is dead. You watched as three of your friends died and did nothing."

"NO!"

"Murderer!"

Dusty grew frantic. "No, Rachel, that wasn't me. Watson did those things! He did those things!"

"Murderer! Who was the one person who could have stopped it? Who could have surrendered. One life is better to lose than many!" Rachel was advancing, her eyes cold and dark, the light around her dimming as she took slow steps toward her. Dusty scrambled back as fast as she could, but only gained a few inches as the air thickened so it felt like she was swimming in pudding

"NO, RACHEL, IT WASN'T ME!" Dusty tried to cover her ears, but her hands wouldn't move. She tried to turn away, but it felt as if invisible hands held her firmly in place. She was trapped.

"MURDERER!" Rachel screamed, reaching her hands out, snaking her cold, dead limbs around Dusty's neck, then she looked into Dusty's eyes and whispered, "Murderer."

"NO!" Dusty jolted awake and upright, sweat trickling down her face, her back twanging a bit in discomfort. She sat there in silence a moment, breathing hard. Suddenly, her door opened. She jumped, reflexively grabbing her sheet up around her. It was just Bruce, his face and voice concerned.

"Dusty, are you all right?" he asked, his hand still on the doorknob. She swallowed before speaking, smothering most of the feelings of disturbance as best she could.

"Yes. It was just a nightmare," She said, her voice quiet, but disturbed. Bruce walked over and sat down on her bed.

"But are you all right?" He asked again. She looked up at him. It occurred to her how distant he had been since Rachel had died. This seemed to be the first time since he'd really… reached out since her death.

"I guess." She replied, shoving her thoughts aside. "I mean, it's not my favorite thing to have a nightmare, particularly when it…well, never mind." She stopped herself. She and Bruce had not discussed Rachel's death except the night she died. And that night…she felt things change. She felt him suddenly grow distant. It seemed to her, whether he knew it or not, that he blamed Dusty for Rachel's death. He just didn't grieve this long. She was so sure of it.

"Particularly when it does what, Dusty?" he asked, leaning forward to catch her gaze.

"When…" She looked down and away, "Oh, Bruce. Rachel was in it. She…kept calling me a murderer and saying I killed her." She couldn't look up into Bruce's face, afraid that he would agree. His silence was most definitely not reassuring. She sighed, "I know that I am responsible for their deaths, but…" She closed her eyes, "_I didn't kill her_." Trying to take in a steady breath, but failing, her breath hitched, and a sob wrenched out of her throat. "I didn't kill her!" She said, putting her face in her hands and tried to hold the tears back.

Bruce just sat there. He didn't know what to think. The anger and hurt that he'd felt over the past few weeks had been almost unbearable. He hadn't really stopped to think about what Dusty, the instigator of this whole chain of events might feel. He, well, he hadn't stopped to think about what anyone had been feeling lately.

But she was responsible. And she needed to pay for what she'd done. He had to tell her that. He had to tell her that she needed to pay for the things she'd done. "Dusty," He whispered, she looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears, "You need to go through this. You_ are_ responsible," He said, his eyes showing nothing. No pity, no apology. Just emptiness and the unrepentant, smoldering antipathy. "Good night," He said shortly, and then stood.

Dusty just watched him leave. As soon as the door closed, she knew she'd lost him.

And that was worse than any nightmare.

* * *

She felt empty. Any consolation that she had convinced herself up in the terms of Rachel's death was gone now. She was glad she wasn't allowed to go to work for another week. The next morning, she just lay in her bed staring up at the canopy, trying not to cry. As she lay there, cushioned and supported by fluffy white down pillows, her red covers pulled up around her, as if to protect her, she started to remember.

The day they met. How he caught her after he'd knocked her 'off balance' and had proceeded to charm her. How he seemed so familiar then… The day he took her home, which ended up with her meeting Rick for the first time in eight years. She closed her eyes, and let a tear leak out of the corner of her eye, her bottom lip trembling. Then there was shopping with Bruce, him doting on her, buying her costumes for the charade she was playing. Then the dances, the parties, the Salsa, Rick's birthday, their engagement, Dorothy, Judy, her marriage, Rick, Watson, Selina, Tibet, Oscar, Batman, Rachel, lies, lies, _lies._ She lay in bed, sobbing, until she heard the door open and then a soft hand on her shoulder.

"Mrs. Wayne, what's wrong? Do you need your medication?" Dusty shook her head, burying her head in her pillow, her body racked with sobs, trying to ignore Alfred as best she could. He wasn't having any of it. "Mrs. Wayne, I need to know what's wrong so I can help you." She tried to choke out the words, the thing that had been digging away at her for so long.

"I want to be _me_ again, Alfred." She sobbed, "I don't want to be Justine Wayne, I don't want to be Watson's right-hand student, I don't want to be Manager of Applied Sciences, I just want to be _me_. Old, shallow Dusty Grayson who _didn't _see her parents murdered, _didn't_ have her brother taken from her custody, _didn't_ become apprentice to one of the most malicious vipers that ever lived, and _didn't_ lose the only man she ever loved to a person that she killed."

"You didn't kill Ms. Dawes."

"I might as well have!" She shouted, sobbing so hard, her breath was ragged and the words were stuttering through her lips. "Watson abducted her so he could get at me, resulting in her death, and now Bruce won't even talk to me, and when he does I can hear it in his voice that he blames me, and would rather that I had died than she did," She said, still crying and shouting so hard her breath was hiccupping. Alfred touched her back soothingly.

"Nonsense. Master Bruce is grieving. He lashes out at those he loves because he can't let himself show it any other way. He'll come around." Dusty shook her head, still sobbing. After a few minutes, however, her tears calmed.

"But what if he doesn't? It's already been so long," She said slowly, sitting up in the bed, wiping her eyes, and taking the proffered Kleenex.

"Then he is different from the man I know," Alfred said, "He grieves differently than anyone else I've ever met, but he'll come around." Touching her hand, he stood. "I see that you would probably rather have your breakfast in your room this morning. As Mr. Grayson is already off to school, it seems little purpose in making the trip in any case." Dusty nodded, looking down. Alfred's eyebrows rose, "You mean you wish to put yourself in a position of discomfort and antagonism?"

Dusty sighed. "No…but… I don't know. I just still, well, like him." She said, resting her chin on her palm, smiling a little sheepishly. Alfred smiled.

"Keeping holding onto that, Mrs. Wayne, and you will be surprised how much you will be able to withstand," He said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go prepare your breakfast."

* * *

There was much to withstand. Bruce said nothing derogatory or hurtful, and was still kind and natural to Rick, but Dusty was on the other side of a closed door. Dusty's only consolation was that in public nothing changed. Two weeks after she was released from the hospital, they were back to their old routine of training, work and (on Dusty's part) uncovering the links in Watson's chain of command.

Training was hard. Bruce, in his distant fashion, was still one of the best teachers around, but seemed to have lost the empathetic touch that had seemed to dominate his teaching methods. She felt bruised after every lesson, his brutal quickness and her sudden lack of agility playing against her. But she was gaining it all back. By March thirty-first, after almost a month and a half of hard training, it was all back. That was the day Bruce picked up the rod.

"You're kidding," Dusty gave him a slightly scathing and very incredulous look that matched her tone to a tee. Bruce lifted his eyebrows.

"Try me. Now take your stance," he directed. Instead of that, Dusty leapt to her feet from where she'd been stretching.

"Bruce, this is insane. I am sick and tired of you taking your anger out on me. You're more brutal than Ra's was on a bad day." This, apparently, was _not_ the best thing to say. Bruce lost it, swinging the pole at her. Dusty ducked, rotated, and then grabbed the bamboo pole firmly, almost wrenching it free. "THINK!" She bellowed. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "I. Have. Had. ENOUGH!" She bit out, "CAN YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT? I DIDN'T KILL RACHEL! I DO _NOT_ DESERVE THE ABUSE YOU'VE BEEN GIVING ME FOR THE PAST MONTH! GET _OVER _YOURSELF! THERE ARE MORE PEOPLE IN THIS WORLD THAN JUST YOU! IF YOU ARE GOING TO PUNISH ME, DO IT FOR SOMETHING I'VE ACTUALLY DONE!" Her lungs heaved for breath, every muscle in her body taut. When the attack came, it was completely justified and expected. Bruce lunged at her tearing the bamboo pole away from her grip. Twirling the pole, he came around and thrashed it against her back. Dusty fell to the floor, but turned and threw a punch to his solar plexus. It didn't connect completely, but glanced off, just a bit, and left Dusty's fist feeling a little limp. Confound, the man was harder than a granite wall.

Recovering from the blow that left him a little breathless, Bruce was on his feet. Dusty jumped to her feet, and turned to look at Bruce. It wasn't Bruce anymore. The monster that usually hidden behind the mask was suddenly exposed and it shook her to her center. She was in big trouble. He lunged for her again. Dusty, thinking fast, grabbed the pole as it was thrust at her abdomen, levered herself up and flipped over Bruce's head, landing on her feet behind him. She was going to have to take away the pole if she wanted to walk away from this alive. So she moved, and took the offense. She drew on everything she'd ever learned. Punches, kicks, blocks: she used them all. But in the end it wasn't enough.

He feinted, and then punched her with full force in the stomach, sending her reeling to the floor. Dusty skidded, feeling her shirt rubbing a rug burn into her back. Then, kneeling across her legs, Bruce thrust the bamboo rod horizontally toward her neck. Panicking, Dusty grabbed it, trying to push it away. For the moment she was safe, but with every second, it inched toward her. On one hand, she was frightened, very frightened, and on the other, she was incredibly frustrated. She was back at full strength! She knew this, and yet he still was moving it forward almost steadily. She was starting to feel that this was probably _the_ worst idea that she'd ever had. She was faster than the League members, and when technique was applied, she could keep ahead easily. But in a one on one match with a man who outweighed her by at least seventy-five pounds? No chance. The rod was barely two inches from her neck. In the next five seconds, it touched her neck almost softly, before it started to constrict.

_Momma_… Dusty thought, _I'm going to die_.

"Why?" She choked out, staring into Bruce's eyes, her pain and fear clearly apparent in her face and voice. "What did I do?"

Bruce's voice and eyes were cold, "She's dead, Dusty, and you're responsible. You're the reason Watson went after her. If he wasn't after you, then she would still be alive." His voice was a growl now. Dusty's breath hitched, and she started to see black spots in front of her eyes.

"Watson's only after me…because I chose…the right…thing…" She choked out, "Did…you…want me…to be…a…murder…" She couldn't finish the word, there was no more air, the black threatened to swallow her. Her eyes were closing, but she couldn't look away from Bruce's expression. It seemed to be softening…then her eyes closed, and she blacked out, her air completely gone.

The next thing she knew was some sort of shouting. She tried to lift her eyelids, which had some point in time turned to lead and saw someone in a suit yelling at someone Bruce-shaped. She took in a breath. It hurt, but it gave her enough energy to open her eyes.

It was Alfred. Sweet, helpful, respectful Alfred, who would only consider hurting someone if they were threatening someone else's life was shouting at the top of his voice at Bruce. And apparently he was considering hurting him. They weren't in the dance room anymore. She tried to sit up. Bruce and Alfred noticed.

"I told you she was fine!" Bruce said, sounding distinctly huffy.

"She is not fine, she has a bruise the size of a bloomin' grapefruit on her throat from where you decided to kill her!" Alfred shouted and crossed the room to grab an ice pack beside where Dusty lay. He sat down beside her and held it to her throat. "Don't try to talk, Mrs. Wayne. It won't help anything. And you, sir, should not expect any dinner this evening, and if I see any hide or hair of you in the bottom two floors of this house until tomorrow morning, I will personally beat you over the head with my nine iron. Now get out of here!" It was a definite dismissal, and Alfred turned his back on the younger man.

Bruce turned, unmistakably displeased and marched out of the room. Alfred turned to Dusty, "Lie back down and try to get your breath back. You've only been unconscious about seven minutes." Dusty nodded and leaned back against the mound of pillows that had been piled behind her. She could breathe, which was an exceptional blessing, but it was hard to take in a lot without the bruise start throbbing.

Finally, she couldn't take it any longer, "How bad is it?" Her voice was quiet and raspy. He sighed.

"Not very. It will be black and blue for a while, but not bad enough that we need to take you to the hospital. But it's better that you don't talk. We don't want to take the chance of you hurting your vocal chords. What possessed Master Wayne to-"

"It was me, Alfred," Dusty said, louder than she meant to, and she painfully put her hand to her throat. "I provoked him. I was sick and tired of him treating me like I didn't have feelings, and I was just some sort of punching bag, and so I thought if I made him just take all his anger out at once…" She paused, working back her breath. She saw Alfred's somewhat incredulous look, "Well, I'm faster than him, but not stronger." She said, closing her eyes. Alfred sighed.

"Could you two ever consider having a normal conversation?" He asked. Dusty laughed softly, trying not to include her vocal cords in the action. It didn't work too well and Dusty grimaced. Alfred patted her on the knee, "At any rate, you are going to be laying down for the next day and a half drinking cool liquids and watching television. Come, I'll help you to your room." He helped her stand up, still holding the ice pack to her throat, and helped her upstairs.

* * *

Just as an author's note: there are two reasons for this chapter. One, of course, is to develop Dusty and Bruce's character a bit more, but it has always bothered me that in Fan Fiction, a lot of times, a whole bunch of absolute horrible stuff happens to Bruce, or the OC and they both basically pick themselves up and walk away like they didn't even register what happened. With this chapter, especially with Rachel (a *life long* friend of Bruce's) dying, and Dusty being at least partially responsible, I couldn't in good conscience let him walk away from that. To me, that is not Bruce. He feels really deeply, I think, and he's not the type of person to just let it go without anything happening.

I don't know why I needed to say that, but...yeah. It's one in the morning, and I needed to say that.

Anyway...

Thanks to Were-girl19, suchicken, and klutzyphoenix for reviewing.

Also, Thanks to Bryt for her awesome timing on Thursday, demanding where the document was. THANK YOU! Considering my busy day today... well, let's just put it at... it might not have been here in this quality.

Everyone give a round of writer's applause for Bryt.

Anyway, until next week!

~Sabre


	51. Chapter Fifty: Detainment

Sorry for the lateness of my usual hours...

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifty

Dusty surveyed the bruise on her neck; unconsciously pulling faces at herself as she did so. It was a deep, vivid purple, and deep enough that it hurt to do anything but breathe and drink liquids from time to time. She hated being injured. Luckily, this time she could get up and walk around when and if she wanted to. Stepping back from the mirror, pulling her sweater more tightly around her, Dusty surveyed what she saw. On the outside, she looked calm. Inside, she fumed. More at herself than Bruce, but a certain amount was directed at him as well. She knew that it was her fault that he'd snapped, she really did, but that didn't make the pain any less, or the bruise any less purple.

Angrily, she stalked away from the mirror. She hit her iPod deck with little more force than necessary, causing the music to start. Then she groaned when 'When I Look At You' from the Scarlet Pimpernel started to play. She was about to flick it to the next track, when the lyrics started.

As she listened to it, she walked across the room to pick up the picture frame that held Bruce and her wedding picture. Gazing at the picture, she crossed the room again and sank down on the window seat. Studying the picture, she touched his smiling face. She closed her eyes, willing the tears to leave.

Bruce heard the music from her room as he passed. He heard the gentle closing notes, and looked in. Sitting on her window seat, Dusty sat hunched, holding a picture frame in one hand, her forehead resting on the palm of her other, tears rolling down her face, her shoulders shaking.

_Now remembering is all that I can do…._

_Because I miss him so, _

_When I look at you._

He left her, softly crying into her hand. But, for some reason, he was shaken.

* * *

The next two weeks were slow. Bruce remained aloof, but there were no more vicious looks, or anything remotely resentful. If anything, he seemed cautious. Dusty dismissed it, and felt the winds of persecution pass, at least on that front.

On the other front…She just didn't know. Her office at work had been broken into, but nothing seemed to be missing. She was investigating it herself, not wanting to worry (or bother) Bruce, but it was proving increasingly tough, seeing how she couldn't really involve the police, and there was nothing that was stolen, nothing to give her clues of identity or purpose.

She sat on her horse, out on the rolling hills of Wayne Manor's grounds, just thinking. It was a growing habit of hers, now, giving her quiet and exercise all at once. Luckily, Bruce had horses on the grounds - something about polo - and it was only a ten-minute walk to the stables. As she sat there, her eyes focused on the road for some reason, she started to see a plume of dust rising above the hill that it curved around. As she watched, a black and white police car swerved around the corner. Alarmed, she thought they were going to carry on down the road, and so started galloping toward the house, where they would undoubtedly be. Then one of the policemen leaned out of the car.

"Wayne! Stop!" The first instinct that leapt into her mind jolted up her spine. Watson! Because of that, there was no way on this good green earth that she was going to stop. Furiously she jabbed her horse in the sides, making it fly forward. The car kept going, as did she. She reached the house before they did, galloping her palomino American Quarter up to the house and right through to the door. She paused to open the door before spurring her horse inside.

Her own panic aside, the look on Alfred's face was almost comical when he saw the large horse in his front room as she dismounted and directed it back outside the door.

"What do you think you're doing, bringing that overlarge beast in here?" He asked. Dusty ran past him, skidding slightly as she struggled to stop in her slick-bottomed riding boots. Once she managed to slide to a stop she turned toward him, hands out in a pleading gesture.

"There wasn't time to dismount outside, Alfred, the police are almost at the door." Dusty said, glancing toward the front entry.

"The police? But why?" Alfred said, also looking at the door, albeit more suspiciously than Dusty. Dusty shook her head.

"I don't know, I haven't done anything, but the whole thing points directly to Watson." Dusty said. Then her hands went up by her neck unbuckling the small ceramic knife that was positioned at the back of her neck. "Here, take this." He took the small knife unwillingly.

"Mrs. Wayne, would they be here if something has not gone wrong?" Alfred asked. Dusty looked down, and then shook her head.

"I don't… I just," She said, breaking off, then suddenly looking off into the distance, "There's no other explanation. Bruce just called and was complaining how boring it was, and Rick hasn't had anything interesting happen to him since March…" She looked down, "If they are after me…I have no choice but to go now," She said her voice softening into a quiet, nervous tone. "I ran away when they called me, and thus resisted arrest in their eyes. I'll have to go downtown now. Plus, I really need to know what's going on," She said. The doorbell rang. Alfred gave her a grim look.

"I hope you're wrong, Mrs. Wayne," Then he walked toward the door. Alfred opened the door.

"Good afternoon, officer," Alfred greeted the officer politely. Dusty closed her eyes, fear seizing her heart. What happened to that girl, the one who wasn't afraid of anything? Sighing, she closed and closed off all fear. There. It was gone. At least, that was what she desperately believed. Then Alfred let the officers in. They weren't smiling.

"Mrs. Wayne," One of them greeted, "I'm officer David Schultz. You can consider yourself under arrest."

* * *

"_I, Justine Grayson Wayne, do completely and irrevocably confess to the murders of Dorothy Mendelssohn, Judy Peyton, and Rachel Dawes…"_

Gordon smacked the pages down on the desk in front of her. Dusty flinched but otherwise did not move from her stern, hard, uncharacteristic exterior.

"I don't believe it," He said to her, his voice more harsh than when he usually spoke to her. She didn't look up into his face. Dusty reflected that it was probably her own fault that he was talking this way, but there wasn't anything she could do about it.

"I told you, Lieutenant Gordon, I wrote it," She said softly, still staring straight ahead. Try as she might, she couldn't get louder than the horrible voice that had inhabited her. She wanted to shout and scream, rage on him for making it so hard, but all that would come out was the soft, calm voice that seemed to take up residence.

"Just because you wrote it doesn't mean you're guilty. Mrs. Wayne, I have known you since you were eight years old. This isn't you," He said.

"People change, Commissioner," She bit out, tears of desperation filling her voice, all the emotion that was tearing through her barely hidden behind her hard exterior. She needed him to believe her. What was wrong with her? All those years of self-control, the ability of hiding her true emotions was deserting her faster than water in a four thousand degree oven.

"You haven't, Mrs. Wayne. You couldn't have. Even after you came back you were still the girl I knew. You were older, and more world weary than I expected, but you had the drive to do what is right that would never quit," He said, his hands balling into fists, as if he was trying to control his frustration. He was glaring at her, she knew, subconsciously trying to get her to look up. She decided to oblige him. She looked up, all the cold indifference she could muster seeping into her voice.

"But what if that wasn't me?" She asked coolly. The horrible voice was back again. What was happening to her? Lieutenant Gordon looked at her hard. Inwardly, she swallowed. She'd tried to lie to that face before. Back when she had broken the bathroom window out in one of four aggressive outbursts when she was fourteen, she had tried once to lie to that face. It took four seconds for him to get the truth out of her, and another thirty seconds for her to offer to her parents to pay for the broken window out of her allowance.

"I can't believe that," He said quietly. He gave her another hard look, before picking up the papers. "We'll talk tomorrow, Mrs. Wayne. Think about it. I don't know why you're insisting that you did it…" A piercing look drew her eyes up to his, "But I can only hope it's for the right reasons," He said. With that, he shut the door. As soon as he left, she tried desperately not to break down in tears. Watson, Gordon, even Bruce, it was all too much.

The next day dawned bright and early. Almost immediately after she woke up and eaten her breakfast, she was escorted to the interrogation rooms. And there, with Gordon, was Batman. She almost reacted, but caught herself at the last minute and pulled up any and all emotional barriers she had until she barely noticed when the looming dark figure spoke.

"Lieutenant Gordon says that you have been insistent that you are guilty." His low, growling voice felt like nails on a chalkboard when it grated on her mental barriers.

"That is correct." She said, staring straight forward into space, taking a deep breath.

"Why?" The scratchy, menacing voice continued, "There are several people who were there that would testify to the contrary." Dusty's voice turned flippant. She may have known Jim Gordon all her life, but the man in front of her still didn't know exactly what she was capable of.

"Perhaps they weren't in possession of all the facts," She said, loading heaps of sarcasm into her voice.

"Justine!" Gordon's voice was as sharp as any reprimanding father's, and she had to resist shrinking back in her seat. "Why are you so against us finding you innocent?" He said. She put on an incredulous face.

"And what, exactly, makes you think I _am_ innocent?" She asked intensely.

"What proves you're guilty?" The Batman countered, "The Lieutenant was correct yesterday, Mrs. Wayne. It's not in your character or in anything your parents taught you to actually do what you said you've done," The Batman asked. She turned to him, her face suddenly chalky white with unidentifiable emotion. If he'd had to guess, it was a cross between heart wrenching pain and absolute fury.

"Why bring my parents into this?" She said, her voice shaking, "I am a grown adult, and I have been so for some time now."

"Because were to you actually have done these crimes, Mrs. Wayne, you would have been working against everything that your parents had ever lived – and died – for!" Gordon said, his voice as hard as it ever got. Dusty tried to hide the pain and confusion that suddenly had clouded her senses.

"What?" She asked, trying not to sound as lost as she felt.

"Your parents were undercover civilian policemen, trying to find out mob connections. They were the ones that put Falcone away the first time. Once that was done, they covered their tracks by coming out with their new research. How anyone figured out they were even worth murdering beyond the reason of their new-found money – which has been debunked several times in all sorts of scenarios - is still in the unsolved file of Gotham City's mysteries."

Dusty's hard exterior had turned thoughtful, "They never studied anything that could put them in any danger… There was never anything except that…"

Gordon and the Batman exchanged a look. Then Gordon spoke, softly.

"I'll only ask this one more time, Justine. Are you guilty?" He asked. She wouldn't look at him. Her breath hitched…and he suddenly saw a sliver of hurt through her tough exterior, though... not her own pain.

"Oh, Jim…" Her voice was soft and pleading, "I wish I could, but I just can't say no."

* * *

_ She sat in her cell, put there by uncaring policemen, her head hanging in her hands. It was all closing in…_

_ "Justine?" It was Montague. Here in the cellblock. Immediately, things were starting to click. Accused wrongfully of crimes she didn't commit? Check. Jail cell? Check. Montague dressed up in a phony lawyer get-up? Check. He was going to blackmail her. She just knew it. Her head rose slowly as she inwardly tried to check whatever rabid emotion was trying to surface._

_ "Montague?" She looked up, her voice lazy, "Come to finish the job, or just provoking me into committing what, apparently, I've been locked up for?" The tone of her voice didn't change, but Montague's face paled slightly, knowing that she probably didn't mean it, but still..._

_ "Look, we're sorry about that, but at the moment, you've made it a little difficult for us to maneuver properly. Your goody-two-shoes husband put Watson in the hospital."_

_ A smile broke out over Dusty's face, "He did? Oh. Send my condolences to Watson for surviving," She said, her tone sharp and sarcastic. Then she turned back to the side of the cell. Montague's look darkened briefly. _

_ "At any rate, he's sent me to pull the legal system," Montague said, a sudden smile flashing across his face. "We're going to make sure you hang for murder, Justine. Surprise." Dusty's eyebrows shot up, and she jumped to her feet._

_ "WHAT?" She shouted, making it over to the bars in less than three steps. Quicker than a flash, she grabbed the front of Montague's jacket with one newly manicured hand - she had been expected at a dinner soon. Then, as soon as she had done so, she realized her mistake. Honestly, she could be charged for that as well, and to clear her name, that was something she couldn't afford. She let go of him through the bars, and stalked back three or four feet. In these bars she felt like a caged animal, only there for someone else's amusement. And, oh, it was rubbing her the wrong way. And yet, it wasn't a surprise at all that he was doing it. In fact, it was kind of an obvious thing. Maybe it was just the fact that he came out and said it that surprised her so much. Then Montague leaned against the bars._

_ "Let me make this clear. You will do exactly what we say, when we say to do it, or-"_

_ "What? You'll frame me for murder?" She said derisively, turning around one hand on her hip, one hand waving in the air in a sarcastic matter. Montague smirked. That horrible, cutesy little smirk that had charmed women from Altai to Zurich. She wanted to wipe it off with a well placed fist. _

_ "No, but we will tell your most prized secret." He said. _Bruce_, Dusty immediately thought. _What had they'd found out?

_ What else could she have done, but agree?

* * *

_

She sat in her cell, staring at the wall, just thinking, her thoughts dark and utterly perturbed. How did they find out? Undoubtedly her most valuable secret was about Batman. She knew that certain members of the League of Shadows did know about Bruce, but both he and Dusty had always thought that they had kept it close to the vest, what with the ninja code of honor and all.

But what kind of honor was there in a den of thieves? She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. And where in the world did the revelation about her parents come in all of this?

"Mrs. Wayne?" There was a small, feminine voice from outside the cell. Officer Rogers, a pretty, tall woman (whose police personality was vastly different from the nice expression that she carried outside of her job) stood outside her cell. "You've been summoned to the interrogation room. By Commissioner Gordon," She added. There was an unspoken respect between the women, and wordlessly, Dusty nodded and stood, walking to the door of the cell.

It was daily procedure. She'd been at the jail three days already, and she'd been to the IR twice, and on her way to the third time. Why couldn't they just let her be? She'd nearly gone under yesterday, out of the pain that she felt deceiving people she genuinely loved. And yet she wasn't really deceiving them. Batman she knew was especially keen to the deceptions, but not the reasons. She just couldn't tell him. While on one hand he could tell her to not worry about it, and he'd go and take care of the League, but on the other hand he could reveal his secret, and while she'd be free, he would be incarcerated for who knows how long.

She just couldn't do it. She couldn't do nearly as much good as him, and at least in this case Watson would leave Gotham alone. If she were to dare to take up the cowl in Bruce's place, Gotham would suddenly have an opponent that would be very difficult to defeat. It wasn't that Watson wasn't human, as Bruce had proven; it was just that the old man kept _coming back_.

They made it to the interrogation room. Something seemed different. She walked into the white glass room. And sat down at the desk, and waited for whoever was going to come in to talk to her. Then the door closed.

"Dusty." Her heart jumped in her chest at the intimately whispered word. She barely caught herself from whispering his true name.

"Batman," She replied, her voice almost cold compared to how he'd whispered her name. She almost turned around until he put his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't turn around," He said. His voice had almost lost its animalistic quality. She somehow knew that at this moment, Bruce was standing behind her, not Batman. "Dusty, what's wrong?" She glanced to the window. She couldn't see anything through the one-way glass, but imagined a crowd of people listening. He somehow saw her imperceptivity small move. "There's no one out there, Dusty, courtesy of Gordon."

"It doesn't matter," She whispered, for some reason, all the emotional stress piling on her at once, stress she hadn't even known she had. Confound Bruce and Batman and their annoying personal baggage they brought with them! "Nothing's wrong." As if to thwart her with her very words, a ragged breath escaped her. His hands lifted off her shoulders and he walked around her, looking down at her.

"You and I both know that's not true, Dusty," He said, still trying to look her in the eye, though she was trying to look away. His beautiful green eyes bored into hers. She tried to keep it all in. She threw up all her mental barriers, letting her face go emotionless, trying to ignore the constant slipping. She was falling apart.

"It doesn't matter, Batman." He seemed to flinch at his pseudonym, but she continued, "Whether or not there is anything wrong with me doesn't matter."

"That's not true, Dusty," he said, his tone too sweet and caring for him to hold in much longer. Her heart started to crumble. She had to tell him. She _wanted _to tell him! But she couldn't. _Get rid of him_, her gut instinct ordered, _you can't hold yourself together in his presence. He knows you too well._ _He'll manipulate you to tell him what he wants. Get rid of him! _She obeyed, throwing her words out harshly, ignoring the stabbing feelings in her heart as she began.

"It's been true for the past three month,." She hissed, turning away from him violently. She knew how to get rid of him. She was trying to make him angry, knowing that despite what happened earlier, he would now rather stalk away angrily than hurt her, especially in a police station, but more especially because... She held it in. It hurt too much to say it, even in her mind. She froze with his next words.

"No. It always mattered. I just haven't been able to act on that knowledge." She turned away from him even further, pushing herself out her chair viciously to turn her back on him. Then she bit her lip to keep herself from crying, desperately trying to keep him from seeing. "Dusty, believe me. I've been stuck inside myself, your words last month brought me out."

"I can't believe you." She bit out, barely controlling the shakiness of her voice.

"Why not?" His voice was so controlled, she could hardly stand it. She decided to throw down the gauntlet.

"You tried to _kill_ me!" She exclaimed, turning around, her chair almost falling over, her eyes filled with hate. Inside she was dying at the turmoil and pain she was obviously causing him, "You tried to _kill _me and you're expecting me to believe that you were concerned for my well being? I bet it was you who turned me in! You can believe me when I say that even before Rachel died, notwithstanding whether I'm actually guilty, that I believe you never cared for me. I believe that you have been a selfish coward all your life, and I am _disgusted_ that I ever fell in love with the likes of you," She said, tears sneaking down her face without her knowledge.

Emotion filled his eyes. She wasn't sure what emotion, and she wasn't sure it would mean for her. Then he spoke, his voice more gravelly than usual, "Dusty, believe me, from the moment I first really knew you, I have respected and loved you. I don't believe that you killed Rachel, Dorothy or Judy, and I believe that Watson had something to do with this. But I don't know why you're trying to maintain your guilt." He had walked forward slowly and calmly, and now touched her face with gentle, but gloved fingers. "Why, Dusty?" He whispered. She bowed her head, tears rendering speech impossible. She tried to hold it in, even as it escalated into violent gasps and shudders.

"I can't!" She finally sobbed out. "I can't." Then, Batman – or was this Bruce? – pulled her closer into an embrace, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Please, Dusty." He whispered into her ear. She shook her head, her tears coming harder and faster.

"You'll – you'll -" She tried to force out, but her frustration and distress was mounting. He drew her closer.

"I'll be fine," He whispered in her ear. Inside the thick Kevlar, titanium-dipped shell, Bruce Wayne's heart ached. What was she hiding? What could have held her so closely to her cause? Dusty shook her head, pulling back.

"I can't explain, Br-Batman." She said, "But please, don't make me -" She broke off as Batman pulled her closer a few inches.

"I won't. I promise," He said. Then, looking into her tearstained face, "Believe me, Dusty. I won't make you. But so help me if I don't try to get you out of here," He said, the gruffness in his voice intensifying. Then he looked to the window urgently. "I have to go," He said, his tone softening. " But remember what I said. _Everything_ I said." Batman – no, this time it _was_ Bruce – said. She looked at him for a long moment, trying to see into his mind. But then clarity struck, and she nodded.

"I will," She whispered. Then he smiled, leaned in and kissed her. Dusty closed her eyes and kissed back, her heart fluttering. Their surroundings melted away for a moment, and for a brief second, the world was all right. Then he pulled away and disappeared. Dusty sat down at the desk again, lighthearted but unsmiling, the problems of her life pulling the corners of her mouth down. But still…

It was just a kiss, Dusty realized. A kiss from the man she loved brought her from a trench of despair and confusion to a heaven of bliss in the slums of her emotional state. _Oh Dusty,_ she thought, _What have you done to yourself_?

Whatever it was, though, she wasn't sure she cared.

* * *

Ah, the highs and lows of a story... Goodness, dearie me...

Thanks to taytayfanatical, Lamminator, and suchicken for reviewing.

Also, forgive the unbeta-edness of this chapter. Bryt had a date tonight ;) and I dropped the ball on Thursday. So. My fault. As per norm. Anyway.

Until next week!

~Sabre


	52. Chapter Fifty One: Court, Part One

Here you go! Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifty-One

Gordon watched Dusty in her cell as she slept. She was so calm now. He thought back to the day before, where he had walked into the room adjacent to the room, seeing her with Batman, and then her expression after he had released her. For one moment, it seemed, the melancholy that she had been steeped in was dispersed. And then, as she was led from the IR, it seemed to come back, little by little, coming back in full force by the time she was led back to her cell.

He wasn't sure what it was that brought her down so much. And he wasn't sure that Batman – whatever methods he may have used – knew either. Whatever it was, though, it was huge. Nothing could hold much sway over Dusty, especially when untruth was involved. Even when she was young she simply didn't allow herself to feel guilty for something she wasn't responsible for. But what was wrong? He watched her face, relaxed and untroubled for now, for a moment more, and then turned away, pained and confused.

_Little, innocent Justine, _he thought helplessly, _what have you gotten yourself into?_

_

* * *

_

Dusty woke up the next day to someone saying her name quietly. She lay there for a moment, in her mind's eye back at home, her soft downy comforter wrapped around her, and Rick kneeling by her bed, not being able to wait to show her something incredibly awesome. The first thing to shatter that dream was the rough texture of the blankets. Scratchy and even somewhat itchy, they were definitely not her first choice, and her pillow was not her own either. Still if she wasn't at home, why was…

Her head rose and she looked toward the bars. Rick stood there, having whispered her name over and over until she'd stirred. She stared at him a moment, hoping that he wasn't there, that he hadn't found out that she was her. Even more than Bruce's influence, Rick had the power to make her tell him what was wrong, and even if he couldn't this time for some inexpressible reason, he could guess and he would be right. But he didn't move. He just stood there, wanting her attention. Waiting for it patiently

He looked like he would wait forever. Dusty sat up.

"Rick? What are you doing here?" She asked, putting a bit of a smile on her face. He smiled a little bit, but his eyes looked sad.

"I came here to visit you," He said as if this was obvious, taking a half step forward and touching the bars lightly. Dusty stood up and shuffled over to the bars, still a bit asleep. She looked at the calendar outside herself. It was a weekday.

"Don't you have school today?" Rick shook his head.

"It's Spring Break. I have until this Saturday off. Alfred wouldn't let me come until now," He said softly. Then he looked up into her eyes. "Dusty, what did you do?" His voice broke slightly, pleading with her with a helplessness that made her heart ache. "No one will tell me, when I ask Bruce, he mumbles something incomprehensible and stalks away to his study, brooding like he's Sherlock Holmes. It's like you're in for murder or something!" Dusty looked down suddenly, eyes shut tightly. He'd done it again. Rick's eyes widened in understanding and horror.

"But you didn't! Do they think you killed Rachel? Or Dorothy? Or Judy?" He read her emotions all too well. Curse her familial relationships. Rick continued, incensed, "But you _didn't_! I was _there_ the night that Judy died. I had nightmares about it for months!" He protested, balling his fists, his forehead furrowed and mouth turned down in a hard frown. Dusty, now up at the bars tried to soothe him, grabbing his gesticulating hands gently and stroking the backs of them with her thumbs.

"No, Rick, it's fine," She said as he was ranting, "Please, Rick, stop shouting," She said, letting as much feeling as she dared into her voice. Finally, hearing the seriousness in her ton, he stopped, breathing hard, still looking like he could vent a little more without losing any steam. He stared at a fixed point somewhere behind her and when he spoke, it was low and threatening. Dusty's heart thundered as she recognized that tone. It was hers. He couldn't have known how she sounded while she was threatening, or feeling threatened, but here he was, in body and in soul, the harsh sternness of one that had lost and would _not_ lose again. She quietly released his hands, as if her touch somehow helped Rick channel that emotion.

"You didn't do it, Dusty," His voice lowered to a whisper, "And we know that you didn't. _I_ know that you didn't, and I will testify in any court they want me to." He was completely serious, but Dusty smiled sadly

"I don't know, Rick…" She trailed off, choosing her next words carefully, "What if everyone else made it seem like I was guilty, and even what you said couldn't make them let me go?" She asked, again reaching through the bars to touch his hand. He grabbed her hand and held it tight.

"It wouldn't matter. I would try my hardest to make them let you go," He whispered. She sighed and looked at the floor, wanting with all her heart to tell him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Then, with a belated jolt, she realized she was still in her jail cell, and not in a secure communication room. Confusion set in, and she couldn't help but ask the question that was suddenly very pressing on her mind.

"Rick, how did you get into the cell block? They don't let civilians in here." She said. Rick smiled.

"Alfred called in a few favors, and well," He trailed off, as if not sure he should tell her the information he had, "Commissioner Gordon doesn't think you're guilty. Not at all, in fact," He said, playing with his fingers, much like she did. She looked up at him, cautiously happy. Rick gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand. Then his smile died, and he looked down briefly, "Bruce did want me to ask why you were maintaining your guilt," Dusty sucked in a angry breath, and barely controlled an urge to tear away from her little brother. "But I won't. I believe you have your reasons, Dusty, and I hope – for all our sakes - they're the right ones," He said, touching her arm softly. She sighed, patting his hand, her eyes sad.

"Me too, Rick. Me too."

* * *

Bruce leaned forward at his computer, not reading the text up on the screen, but rubbing his eyes. Life was pretty much absolutely, unbelievably frustrating. How on earth was he going to acquit Dusty when it seemed that she didn't want to? No…she did. But why wasn't she being cooperative? He thought hard, trying to remember every word that she had spoken in the two times that he'd seen her since her arrest. Through everything that she'd said, and reacted to… It was as if she was…told not to. It dawned on him.

Watson. Bruce slammed his fist against his desk, making everything jump a good two inches. If it weren't for a certain promise he'd made to himself, he would hunted him down and broken the viper's neck. As it was, he was still severely tempted. He stood up furiously, pushing himself away from his desk, stalking across the Batcave to the water's edge. The Tumbler stood there, a testament to Dusty's focus, dedication and skill. Bruce sighed. She would do it. She would do anything that she felt she needed to.

_"You'll – you'll-_" What would she do for him? What could he do that she couldn't? He looked up at the wall above the cabinet, meeting the engraving of a bat.

Batman. She couldn't carry Batman on. Not for the lack of mettle, but a certain pesky man that kept on trying to kill her at every turn.

And now she was going to burn because of him.

Bruce frowned deeply.

Not if he could help it.

He turned back to the office, walking toward Dusty's desk. Once there, he opened a drawer pulled out a specifically marked flash drive box. Taking the whole thing back to his desk, he dug out the first one labeled 'LOS1' and plugged it into his computer. Clicking on the folder that was labeled 'Watson' he began to read. After he had read the entire folder, he read another, and another. When he came to Montague, he paused. In the Frenchman's 'past relationships' section, there were quite a few names, and the lengths of those relationships. He paused when he came to Dusty's name. But then a grim, but satisfied smile came over his face as he read the length. _Four hours_, it said,_ BIG Pain in the rear. Avoid at all costs._

He read through everything he could get his hands on, including daily itineraries/journals. Years were filled in with detailed descriptions of her schedule, daily life, and the individual times things were introduced, and students taught. The name Selina Kyle caught his eye, and as he read, he was surprised to learn that Dusty had taught Selina basic training for six months before her escape. Then, he reached the recent years. He paused before plugging the flash drive labeled for the past year into his computer. If things went wrong, he wasn't sure how he was going to placate her, but he knew there was a different flash drive, with all of her personal thoughts, hopes and dreams on them besides this one. He plugged it in.

He read the first three lines.

Jackpot.

* * *

The court date was set for the next Friday morning. That day, Dusty was woken early and given a very neat grey dress suit from out of her own closet. She dressed carefully, trying to hide the grayness that seemed to have soaked into her over the past week and a half that she'd been in jail. Then she'd been escorted to the courthouse. Somehow the news had gotten hold of the fact that she'd been incarcerated, and thus was bombarded by microphones and cameras as she left the building. She kept a wary eye out for anyone who looked suspicious, but no one really stood out. She briefly wondered if that was because of the monotony of the prison cell.

The drive was also long. No one spoke. Commissioner Gordon sat in the seat up front, every once in a while glancing back to see Dusty, staring blankly out the window. In his eyes, she looked for all the world like she was being led to her ultimate doom. He watched her for a long time. He had refused to believe that she had done any of the things that she had been accused of, but what if she was right? What if that slimy looking lawyer Mr. Paul was right?

Underneath her stalwart expression - or at least that was what Dusty was shooting for - Dusty was worried. There were so many unanswered variables. What would Bruce do? She knew him too well to even think that he would sit around doing nothing.

But what options had she left him with? It didn't make any sense that he could do anything, even if he did figure the whole thing out. Oh! She was driving herself crazy. Plus, there was a sneaking feeling on whom, exactly, would be judging this trial. She doubted that Montague could do much, what with Gordon breathing down his neck, but she had always been surprised how much he could maneuver, even under a scrutinizing eye.

The car pulled to a stop. There were already fifteen or so reporters, each with their own slew of photographers who were waiting to catch the event. Dread curdled in Dusty's stomach.

"Mrs. Wayne?" She looked up. Gordon was looking at her, "we're going to go to the courthouse now, are you ready?" Dusty nodded, and then scooted over to the appropriate side of the car. She stepped out of the car into the sunlight and she pulled out her sunglasses out of the small, police-searched personal item bag they had had allowed her to carry. As soon as her head emerged from the car, the reporters immediately started to bombard her with questions.

"Mrs. Wayne, who is representing you in court?"

"Mrs. Wayne, why isn't this an open trial?"

"Mrs. Wayne, did you actually kill those three women?" She stopped suddenly, and turned to look at the small man who had asked that question, the buzz of around her seeming to cease as the background noise faded away. His voice had been innocent, for a reporter, but the question - genuine as far as she could tell - stunned her. Not everyone believed that she did it? Montague hadn't convinced everyone?

"Mrs. Wayne." Commissioner Gordon's hands guided her forward, and reminded her why she was here. As soon as they entered the courthouse and had gone through security once again, Gordon pulled her aside and spoke quietly to her as they walked slowly to a door on the far side of the room.

"Justine, I've looked at your record, and the only trial that you've been to is a custody trial. This is a little bit different, so I'm going to have Mr. Gregor, your lawyer, explain the basics of a court trial."

"I think I do know at least the basics, Commissioner," Dusty said in a low voice, trying to block the last time she had had a 'trial'. She ignored the comment about the lawyer. Bruce had obviously arranged something, and she didn't have it in her to be worried about it.

"Still, after that Mr. Gregor can review the case with you, and we can then adjourn to the court room," Gordon said. Dusty nodded. Gordon nodded in return, and then moved his head slightly in the direction of the door they were heading to. "They're in there," He said.

_They? _Dusty thought before walking towards the door and then into the room. Inside, Bruce was talking with a tall man who, at first glance, looked more like a football player than a lawyer, with chocolate brown hair and alert and intelligent eyes, so dark a brown they almost looked black. He stood straight and tall, over six feet, easily, with wide shoulders, and was coolly emanating competence without any form of conceit.

"Dusty," Bruce said, smiling as she entered. An imperceptible emotion crossed his face when he saw the policeman entering behind her, and the electronic cuff around her wrist.

"Bruce," She said, smiling in return, and then turning to the stranger, who was obviously Mr. Gregor. "I'm presuming you're my lawyer, Mr. Gregor. Very pleased to meet you, even, or perhaps especially, under these circumstances," She said pleasantly, extending her hand toward him. Mr. Gregor took it, and shook it warmly.

"Well, Bruce here probably would have taken the case himself if I had let him. However, since you're facing three counts of first-degree murder, he decided to let me help. Now, Mrs. Wayne, Bruce has told me that you have pleaded guilty for the safety of you and those around you, and I respect that. It would have gone a whole lot smoother if you would have plead not guilty, but we feel that we have enough evidence that we can win this without your acquiescence to that. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Dusty answered immediately. Bruce put his hand on her shoulder from behind.

"Mainly, Dusty, just tell the truth. In the end, it's the quickest way to walk, and with a few words in the right places, we can even put away Montague for good," Bruce said. She turned to look at him. She studied him carefully. Then she realized it. He knew. He had figured it out. She threw him a slight questioning expression. He gave her a microscopic nod. Then she decided.

"I will do my best. In fact, I will do more than my best. Bruce…" She trailed off, looking at him squarely in the face. "Whatever I say in there, whether or not it seems…right... or, perhaps… correct." She looked down, then back up, her jaw line set and her eyes blazing with determination. "What I will say be the truth. Make no mistake." Mr. Gregor's expression remained impervious as he looked at the woman who stood before both men, straight and proud, unbowed even under the extreme circumstances. Bruce had been correct, she was no ordinary person.

* * *

They entered the courtroom, again to the flashing of select cameras and the whispering of news people. Dusty maintained her neutral expression as she saw Montague, Brandon Tanner and Watson, who sat a little stiffly in his chair, on the left side of the room, each looking very calm and professional.

The first thought that actually entered her mind when she saw Watson sitting there, a full three months after Bruce had apparently given him the beating of his life, was _hah!_ That, along with a healthy dose of nervousness. She did not forget who had sent her into the hospital for a month and a half, and who had murdered at least one of the people she was being framed for.

"All rise! His honor, the judge is entering," the bailiff announced. The judge walked up to the front. As she stood between Mr. Gregor and Bruce, she couldn't help but notice the slightly victorious look exchanged between the two. She had a vague recollection of a comment made along the lines of 'I hope we get the right judge' but couldn't have been sure. She glanced over at Montague. Nothing. It was almost as if he had all of his emotion blocking mental shields pulled up. She couldn't blame him. She did too. She was nearly vibrating with nerves, trying to imagine the consequences of what she was about to do. Or maybe not. She was becoming so nervous she wasn't quite sure what she was thinking. Finally they sat down.

"This court is now in session," The clerk announced. After everyone was seated, the judge looked down at his papers.

"This is the case of Paul versus Wayne. As I understand the pleadings in general, the charge is against Mrs. Justine Grayson Wayne for the three murders of Dorothy Allyson Mendelssohn, Judith Adams Peyton and Rachel Karen Dawes. The defendant has plead guilty - "

"Your honor," Dusty stood up suddenly, knowing she was about to get called out.

"You are out of order, Mrs. Wayne. Generally one is asked to wait until after the opening statements to speak."

"Understood, your honor, however, respectfully I would like to change my plead to not guilty." Immediately a buzz erupted in the courtroom. The judge looked rather skeptical and leaned forward.

"Mrs. Wayne, this is most irregular, and highly unbelievable. If you plead not guilty now, why did you assert – quite forcefully in fact – your guilt before?" Dusty closed her eyes briefly, knowing that even under the best circumstances, her sanity was going to be questioned by more than one person.

"It was, your honor, a case of blackmail." A buzz, louder than before started. The judge rapped his gavel.

"Order in the court! Mrs. Wayne, am I to understand that you plead guilty to this highly serious charge, because of a threat of blackmail? Why have you suddenly changed your mind? Has the material this person is blackmailing you with suddenly become void?"

"Certainly not, at least not as I understand it, your honor," She said, her hand brushing Bruce's jacket sleeve and she moved her hands to join in front. "But I have thought it through – clearly now - and I determined that whatever I have allegedly done – which I now witness and affirm as not true – is not worth my untruth. I would rather be proven guilty of murder through circumstantial evidence than being legitimately proven a liar," She said. Silence reigned in the courtroom. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Montague fuming nervously under Watson's skeptical eye. It occurred to her that this was Montague trying to prove himself as a leader, and... Then the rest of it clicked.

"Very well, Mrs. Wayne. Your declaration will be noted. However, in the future, _please_ be sure to discuss this with your lawyer before the trial, if at all possible. It should also be noted that you have put yourself in a very difficult situation, Mrs. Wayne, you have put peoples' - mainly the jury's - opinion of your steadiness of mind in jeopardy."

"Your honor, I fear I put myself in an even more difficult and jeopardizing situation when I decided to go against my better judgment in regard to this blackmail," She said, her voice tight.

"Duly noted. Now, if you will take your seat, we will continue with the opening statements. Mr. Paul?" Montague stood, looking viciously at Dusty.

"Thank you, your honor," Montague said, standing his papers in hand. Incredibly, his English accent had disappeared, replaced by a Western American accent, perfect by all standards. Of course, Dusty shouldn't have been surprised. She'd been taught in a variety of accents, and in other ways of concealment of her true identity. "Your honor, today we will prove that Mrs. Wayne, on the individual days of September Fourth, November Seventh, and January Eleventh, murdered Dorothy Mendelssohn, Judy Peyton and Rachel Dawes. Furthermore, we in the proving of this we will also prove that she is the rogue vigilante called the Batman." Dusty's eyebrows shot up and her head whipped toward him, utter confusion and disbelief crossing her face. Looking at her stunned face, a triumphant look crossed Montague's own mug before he turned and sat down. The judge turned to the defendant's table.

"Does the attorney for Mrs. Wayne have an opening statement?" He asked. Mr. Gregor stood up.

"Yes, your honor. To speak plainly, your honor, the things that Mr. Paul speaks are blatant fabrication of facts, and a horrifying twist of things that have happened. We intend to prove not only that Mrs. Wayne is innocent, but that Mr. Paul and his party – who were the ones who came up with all the charges against Mrs. Wayne – are guilty of the adulteration of facts and trying to frame an innocent person for a serious crime that they themselves, or people in their employ, have committed."

"Objection!" Watson stood, his voice loud and indignant, "Your honor, the man is trying to pass judgment."

"Objection noted and sustained, Mr. Davidson. Mr. Gregor, in the future, please refrain from passing unproven judgment," The judge said. Mr. Gregor nodded, looking down briefly.

"Understood, your honor. Please forgive me. Let me amend that statement, then, to we will irrefutably prove Mrs. Wayne innocent to any crimes she has been accused of, and, if possible, expose the guilty party," Mr. Gregor said. He threw a slightly smug look at Montague and Watson, and then sat down.

"Amendment noted. Mr. Paul, do you wish to call witnesses to the stand?" Montague stood and smiled faintly.

"Yes, please. My first witness is Ms. Andrea Birchen of the Foster Children of Gotham Society." Ms. Birchen stood up from where she was sitting behind the railing and walked into the front of the room. As she was taking the oath, Bruce leaned over to Dusty.

"Do you recognize her?" Bruce whispered into her ear. Dusty had been racking her brain for the answer to that question ever since her name was called. She shook her head.

"No. She doesn't even look remotely like anyone I _do_ know. If she'd been there that day at the library, I'm sure I would have remembered it," She whispered back. Bruce nodded, then turned around and said something quietly to Mr. Gregor behind her back. He nodded and then sat up straight. Montague started to question Ms. Birchen.

"Ms. Birchen, is it true that you were present at the Gotham City Library at two thirty in the afternoon on September Fourth, last year, tending to some children who were in the custody of the Foster Children of Gotham Society?" He asked. She looked at him, her eyes very calm, not a hint of dishonesty in her face.

"Yes," She replied evenly. For a minute, Dusty almost believed her, for a moment doubting the memory that had been etched into her mind for eight long months. The self-assured look, none of the heightened sense of nerves that usually accompanied a liar. The next two questions, however, calmed Dusty's mind, and removed any doubt about the events of that day.

"Was Dorothy Mendelssohn in your custody that day?"

"Yes."

"How long was Miss Mendelssohn in your custody?"

"Close to three months. If I remember correctly, she was about to be rotated to another home." Strike three. Three statements, all spoken as innocently as if they were true, but each a ringing lie. Bruce was writing down something in shorthand on a paper in front of Mr. Gregor and herself, and Mr. Gregor was surreptitiously reading it, all the while paying attention to the goings-on up front.

There were a few other questions, mostly fabricated things about the murder itself. Dusty watched it all, trying to quell the indignation as Ms. Birchen claimed the reason that Dusty fell apart was being caught with Dorothy's blood on her hands. Bruce covered her hand with his own. He could see the burning hurt in her eyes, the hurt that only came from one who had been defamed and abused. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Montague finished. Mr. Gregor stood as Montague sat down.

"Your honor, I would like to cross-examine the witness." Ms. Birchen looked up, the first flicker, invisible to the untrained eye, of anxiety. Seeing no reason why not, the judge nodded, and Mr. Gregor took the floor. Montague seemed to shrink in hidden discomfort. Mr. Gregor began, "Ms. Birchen, you said that you were the guardian of one Dorothy Mendelssohn for the three months up until she died, is that correct?" The witness nodded, her façade of self-assurance fading fast, and for good reason. Mr. Gregor's calm face darkened into a frown as he turned to the defendant's table, looked through his notes, and pulled out a paper.

He turned and walked up to the judge, "Your honor, I have a signed statement from Marissa Blackburn, a _registered_ member of Gotham Foster Homes, and an acquaintance of the Wayne's, that she was the guardian of Dorothy Mendelssohn for almost six months. Unfortunately, due to the nature of her job, she was unable to appear in court today, but we have a legal statement from her, and her workplace, signed in a notary, verifying this." He handed the paper to the judge. The judge examined the paper, his forehead creased in thought.

"Ms. Birchen, Mr. Paul, I'm afraid with this evidence manifested, Ms. Birchen's testimony can no longer be counted as reliable evidence. Mr. Paul, do you have another witness to call to stand?" The judge's tone was a little bit different, and as Ms. Birchen got down from the stand, he gestured with his finger, and a police officer escorted her into another room.

"I do," Montague said, slightly perturbed, obviously having seen Ms. Birchen escorted out of the room. And the trial continued. Dusty didn't count how many pieces of evidence Montague pulled up, each as circumstantial or fabricated as the last - especially the piece on her as Batman - or how many people he put there, each of them telling testimonies which were, at least in accordance with the other witnesses' testimony, airtight. Sometimes Bruce wrote something on the piece of paper, and Mr. Gregor stood and quietly gave the judge a piece of evidence that poked a neat hole in that witness's testimony.

At first Dusty was confused why Montague had gone to so much trouble to create such an intricate mess that Bruce or Dusty could have easily set straight, with the help of someone like Mr. Gregor. Then she realized the reason behind the farce. Well, perhaps not the reason, but the binding tie, actually the two binding ties as to why he had made it so fully masking as he had.

The first was that he'd hoped that Bruce would give up on her, and leave her to deal with this herself, still harboring the anger about Rachel. The second was that Montague had depended on her to be completely compliant. And boy had she messed up his plans.

Which meant that after this he'd be out for her blood. More than usual, that is. Feeling vulnerable, she concentrated on smoothing out her features, finding the comfort in knowing that she hadn't lost her self-control. Then she pulled slightly into herself, trying to hold out as long as she could against the barrage of lies and accusations. It was hard. The lies, the bandying of names of people she loved. She wanted it to stop.

Then, it was their turn.

* * *

I'm sorry if I got court proceedings wrong. I've never been to court myself, and I've found myself at a deficit of information in that regard. And I didn't even have any TV Shows to fall back on.

Still, thanks to motherduckatschool (don't worry about being late - better late than never), ixamxeverywhere (sorry for the confusion), and High Queen Crystal for reviewing!

Thanks also to Matt, the cutest boy in the world, for lending his appearance to Mr. Gregor. I feel safe in putting this up since I'm fairly convinced he'll never read this. If he does: Surprise! Call me.

Also, thanks for everyone's patience with my late updating on Saturdays. I'm getting used to a new school schedule and so I'm in the throes of absolute chaos.

Anyway.

Until next week!

~Sabre


	53. Chapter Fifty Two: Court, Part Two

Here you go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Two

Dusty had initially thought, at least after Ms. Birchen's testimony, that Mr. Gregor was the quiet, firm, unassuming kind of lawyer. That impression melted away as he stood up, and his quiet disposition was shaken off like an uncomfortable coat. This man was made for the courtroom, and now that he had the floor, his competence and sheer intelligence suddenly stood out tenfold.

"Your honor, as my first witness, I would like to call Mrs. Justine Wayne to the stand," he said, gesturing to the woman beside him. Dusty nodded and stood, walked silently up to the stand. After being sworn in, she sat down, calming herself, trying to convince herself that she would be all right. As soon as she was comfortable, she looked up, meeting Mr. Gregor's reassuring but firm gaze.

"Mrs. Wayne, on September fourth of last year, which is your birthday, you and your then-fiancé Mr. Bruce Wayne held a baseball game for a group of foster children, is that correct?" He asked.

"It is."

"Soon after the baseball game was over, you, Mr. Wayne, sixteen children under the care of Gotham Foster Homes, one of which was Dorothy Mendelssohn, and three additional guardians in charge of the foster children went to Toys 'R' Us. Is that also correct?" Dusty swallowed.

"It is."

"From there, you traveled to the Children's Wing in Gotham City Library?"

"Yes."

"Could we have your account of the goings on there?" Mr. Gregor asked. Dusty went white, glancing at Bruce. His face creased in concern. She glanced back at Mr. Gregor. Then, for the first time in what must have been eight or nine years, an old phrase of her father's filtered into her mind, 'It's not the thinking about hard things that gets them done – it's the doing.' She closed her eyes, gathering her courage. For a split second she could almost feel her father's strong hand on her shoulder, encouraging her. Then she opened her eyes and spoke.

"Yes. We were in the library. The children were running around, eager to see all there was to see – it was a new place. I heard a car outside the window. Normally I wouldn't have noticed, but the road behind the library is a pedestrian walkway in a park. I saw the shooter a split second before he and others opened fire," She said in a quiet voice, her eyes focused on a point on the edge of the defendant's table.

"Do you know who the shooter was?" Mr. Gregor's voice penetrated her thoughts.

"Yes."

"What was his name?" He asked. She looked up at Mr. Gregor, a cool, contemplative look on her face.

"He has many. I know him as David Watson. Russia knows him as Nikolai Stanislavski. You know him as Marshall Davidson." A loud murmur rippled through the crowd. The judge spoke.

"Mrs. Wayne, are you accusing Mr. Davidson of the murder of Dorothy Mendelssohn?"

"Partially."

"What is the other part?"

"He is also directly responsible for the death of Rachel Dawes." The courtroom erupted into a buzz again. Dusty's expression remained impassive.

"Mrs. Wayne, you seem to be getting ahead of yourself. At the moment we are discussing Miss Mendelssohn," The judge said. Dusty sighed.

"With all due respect, your honor, when the culprit of two crimes is the same, one cannot help but discuss them all at once."

"Objection! Your honor, she is making a travesty of your court!" Watson stood, pointing his finger at Dusty, almost shouting over the noise of the press.

"Mr. Davidson, you will sit down. I will allow that we are not focusing on Ms. Dawes at the moment; however, there is nothing from preventing her saying what she will, as long as she speaks nothing but the truth. We have listened to the prosecution's version of the truth with scarcely an interruption. Now you must allow the defendants to do the same." Watson frowned and sat down. Mr. Gregor turned from where he had been looking at Watson, and then turned back to Dusty.

"After the shooting, what then?" She sighed softly, almost inaudibly.

"She was shot, as was the cabinet behind her. The cabinet fell on her, I pulled it off, but…" She looked down.

"But what, Mrs. Wayne?" Mr. Gregor asked. Dusty's eyes filled with tears, fighting them for all she was worth.

"But I couldn't save her." She said, her voice quiet and faraway. She paused, pulling herself together. Mr. Gregor looked down momentarily.

"I know this is hard for you, Mrs. Wayne, but please remember that this is for the good of everyone. Please tell me, prior to the night of her murder, did you have any previous relations with Mrs. Judy Peyton?"

"I knew her as a former guardian of my brother, Richard."

"There was no resentment between the two of you, perhaps because of her friendship with your younger brother?'

"None whatsoever, in any respect. I highly respected her, even though I didn't know her well. Perhaps had we gotten to know each other better, I would have called her a friend myself."

"And Rachel Dawes? Was there any resentment between the two of you because of your husband?"

"Absolutely not. They had become nothing more than friends long before I met them. If there had been even an inclination of romantic attachment before our marriage, I would not have interfered." And so the questioning went. It was hard. She was asked to relive the nights that Rachel and Judy died, and she did so, barely hanging onto her dignity and not crying. Bruce was having a hard time sitting through it as well. His heart ached every time she opened her mouth, and when she spoke in the most controlled voice she could, he wanted to pull her off the stand and gather her into his arms.

Finally it was all over. Or at least they thought it was. As she was about to stand up, Montague stood from where he had been counseling with Watson.

"Permission to cross-examine the witness, your honor?" Dusty held her breath, her heart beating in her chest rapidly, hoping beyond hope that the judge would say no. She didn't think she could handle it, and besides that, she didn't think she could get through his inquisition without being carted back to jail for attacking the prosecutor. Luckily, the judge had seen her rise to her breaking point, and recognized it, especially from watching Bruce.

"Permission denied, Mr. Paul. I'm afraid that it seems Mrs. Wayne has gone through too much at present. Mr. Gregor, do you have any more witnesses to call to stand?"

He did. After Dusty was let down from the stand and sitting beside Bruce, who had a firm grip on her hand, seemingly trying to reassure himself as well as her, he called his second witness.

It was Richard. Montague looked like a rocket had hit him. Watson's face was carefully controlled, but Dusty could see that even he had at least momentarily forgotten Richard's involvement. Mr. Gregor started out.

"Mr. Grayson, how old are you?"

"Twelve years old."

"How long have you been under the guardianship of Mr. Wayne?" Mr. Gregor asked.

"About fifteen months," He answered, his voice calm and his bearing confident.

"How long has Mrs. Wayne, married or unmarried been part of your immediate circle of acquaintances since that time?" Mr. Gregor asked, pacing slightly back and forth, a fingering a pen in his hands.

"Fifteen months also," Richard said.

"Has she shown any murderous or violent tendencies?" Richard paused, thinking this through very carefully, clearly remembering outbursts.

"I can't say that she has never been angry, or violent. But she has never been the kind of person to go into a rage and kill someone just because the mood has taken her to go out and do it," he said. Mr. Gregor nodded, then looked at his notes briefly.

"Would you care to describe what happened on November Twentieth of last year?"

"I was abducted in the home of Mrs. Judy Peyton, sir," Rick's face was pinched slightly. Dusty couldn't figure it out. She leaned forward slightly, ever so slightly… Then her heart hurt. It was pain. No matter how brave he tried to put himself out to be… he was just like her. The realization startled her. He felt the same way. That same, traumatic feeling when something went horribly, terribly wrong. She wasn't alone.

"Would you care to tell us the events of that night, Mr. Grayson?" Mr. Gregor continued.

"Certainly. Mrs. Peyton – whom I will now refer to her as Judy, as I knew her – and I were first alerted to the intruders while we were in the kitchen. She was making a midnight snack while Tom, her husband, and I were playing chess. Tom went out first to check what it was, thinking it was a stray cat or something like that, but he never came back. Judy was the first of the two of us to really think something was wrong. She then took us to she and Tom's bedroom to hide. We heard them come into the front door. When they dragged me through it later, it seems they had knocked it down. That's when I called Dusty. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later, we heard the intruders knocking down the door to the adjacent hallway to the bedroom. Immediately thereafter there was a scuffle out there, but Dusty, who was struggling with them, was soon shot with the same gun that was used to shoot Judy.

"The intruders then broke into the room, dragging me and Judy across the room. She was shouting, screaming and crying. That man," He pointed at Montague, "Had her by the hair. She was struggling hard, and after they got into the hallway, there was a man with a gun. Montague shouted at him to 'just shoot her'. And he did. Tom shot her, just like he did Dusty; only he hit Judy square in the chest. She landed on top of Dusty, trying to get enough air. Then they took me away. As long as I live, I will never forget her lying there. And I will never forget the man who did it." Rick's gaze was fixed hard on the back of the room. Bruce recognized that expression, the smoldering eyes, the locked jaw, but he'd only seen it on Dusty. He realized again how similar they really were. He glanced at his wife, an identical expression on her face, aimed directly at Watson.

"Your accusation for the murder of Judy Peyton rests on her husband, Tom Peyton?" He reaffirmed. Rick gave a short, curt nod. Mr. Gregor nodded.

"Your honor, I am through questioning the witness," he said, stacking his papers and looking to the judge.

"Permission to cross-examine the witness, your honor," Montague said loudly, standing. The judge nodded. Dusty held her breath. This, she knew was the interview meant for her. And Rick didn't know everything, at least, not everything that he should.

"Mr. Grayson, both Mrs. Wayne and you said that I had something to do with the murders," Montague said in a light, almost conversational tone. Rick's intense look was turned onto Montague.

"I did, as did she."

"Supposing that, on the incredibly small chance that you could be right, my esteemed colleague and I did, what motive could we possibly have?"

"Revenge," Rick replied promptly and matter-of-factly. Montague blinked. Dusty paled. He knew. How could he -? Then she knew. '_Dusty, Selina's thinking about defecting_.' Selina had been imprisoned with Rick for who knows how long before Dusty had rescued him. As a former part-time student of Dusty's she should have known the whole story.

"Revenge for what? What has she done to me?" Montague asked, as if he supposed Rick to be six instead of twelve. Rick half smiled.

"Don't play your games with me, Montague. Despite the fact that she tranquilized you for trying to make her believe that you were Bruce, she has done nothing to you. It's Watson," Rick said, his blue-green eyes turning to the man he mentioned. Watson's cold blue eyes were glaring back at Rick like daggers. Rick held his gaze, unafraid at the older man's lethal expression.

"You mean Mr. Davidson? What has she done to him?" Montague asked, also turned to look at Watson.

"She threw a vial of toxic material at him when he tried to force her to poison an entire innocent village," Rick said softly.

"In short, she tried to murder him." Montague's voice turned slightly harsh, twisting the young boy's words around. Rick turned his impenetrable gaze back to Montague.

"Mr. Paul," Rick said patronizingly, the Frenchman's pseudonym a mockery on his tongue, "if a person's life is endangered when he is threatening someone else's life, it is usually, in a court of law, such as this, counted as a instance of self defense for the person whose life was originally in danger."

"Her life was not endangered," Montague's voice seemed more defensive than an honest man's would have been. Dusty looked at him carefully. Bruce noticed that the judge also turned his head, as if confused.

"But he was trying to coerce her into doing something that is not only legally wrong, but morally wrong as well. Plus there is the matter that he did not die, and to the knowledge of those in his immediate circle of associates, was not even permanently harmed. My sister on the other hand, was chased by this man around the world more than once, has scars, mentally and physically from this man's ill-keeping -" Rick's voice was coming out more clipped and harsh.

"Mr. Grayson, you do not have any evidence to support these claims." Montague grit out.

"I _am_ evidence," Richard thundered, though his voice never rose above his normal volume. "Who was it that you kidnapped to try and lure her into the trap? Who did you threaten to kill more than once because she didn't do what you want? Who were you going to train to be an assassin like yourself when you'd finally succeeded at killing her? Don't think just because you were in a different room that I didn't hear all of your plans. Don't think just because I'm twelve years old that I can't think for myself and put two and two together. You are a dishonest snake, Montague, and I cannot believe that-"

"Mr. Grayson, please show some respect to Mr. Paul," The judge said, though his voice didn't hold much reproach. He seemed to be weighing the amount of evidence that was piling up against the prosecutor. It wasn't looking promising for the lawyer. Richard paused, then nodded to the judge, as if pulling himself back into decorum.

"I apologize for my outburst. However, I have one last thing to say," he said, locking his eyes with Montague, "I will not say that my sister is perfect, or even that she has done good things all her life. But she is a not a murderer. She has seen many people die, including our parents. I cannot believe after seeing such horrible things done she could do the same things to others. It doesn't make sense, especially not after having lived in close quarters with her for a long time. I know her."

"And what if she has been putting up a false front? For the sake of you and Mr. Wayne?" Dusty didn't know what to think. She was unaware of the tears running down her face. He had the strength she did not, to stand up and say what he believed, even when it was probably not the best thing to say to Montague.

"Who can live a lie all the time?" Rick asked, "Any normal person would eventually break down. That's the biggest problem with everything you have said, Montague, you assume that she has been the ruthless killer when everyone, and I mean _everyone_ who she has been relaxed and easy around, has attested that she is kind and caring, with no hint of deception, much less murderous intent."

"Justine Wayne is not normal."

"No, she's not. But what is normal? Who set the standard? Let me put it this way: you cannot live a lie convincingly unless it becomes the truth. The way she is now, is now the truth, and that is the only Justine that I have ever known, and I knew her _long_ before any of the murders," He paused for a moment, still staring at Montague, then turned to the judge, "Your honor, I am finished."

"I'm afraid, Mr. Grayson, until Mr. Paul is done questioning you, you must stay on the stand," The judge informed him. Montague, looked down, and then away, his expression difficult to read.

"I am finished questioning him, Your Honor," Montague said, his face slightly strained. It stayed that way through Sana's testimony. He tried to cross-question her as well, this time almost desperately trying to throw her for a loop. That was where his biggest mistake occurred. Earlier in the court case Montague had had to say, in his Paul character, that he, unfortunately, of course, knew no other language besides English and a little Spanish. An outright lie – most League members knew at least four languages, though some, like Watson, knew up to ten.

Then he was questioning Sana. Dusty knew that Sana would have rather eaten a worm than be questioned by him, but despite this, Dusty thought she saw a rather smug look on Sana's face as she walked up to the witness stand. After Mr. Gregor's questions, Montague asked to question Sana, as he had with all of the other witnesses. The judge acquiesced, and soon they were mid-interrogation.

"Ms. Tormont, can you please tell me why you would continue your friendship after she's had such a violent past, one which you have been injured by?"

She smiled, and continued, starting out in English and slipping into French as if it were her native tongue. "Because at the time it was uncontrollable. As many people can attest to, elle a fait attention à contrôler ses émotions, et est jamais même devenue fâchée au point qu'elle a dû traiter blesser physiquement quelqu'un." (She has been most careful to control her emotions and has never gotten angry to the point that she has had to deal with physically injuring someone.) Montague, fully understanding, but not realizing that she had switched languages, continued, unwittingly in French.

"Et comment allez-vous si certain que ce soit le cas ?" (And how are you so certain this is the case?) When the people in attendance gasped, and he caught the look of Watson, who looked like he would like very much to attach Montague to a rocket and blast him into outer space, he started to think very carefully about the past few minutes. And then he glared at Sana, who gave him a glowing angelic smile.

"Because I know her better and have known her longer than anyone here, except perhaps Commissioner Gordon. Also, you're a liar. Why should we believe anything you say?"

The Judge half-heartedly rapped his gavel. All sympathy for his prosecutors was quickly leaving. "Out of order, Ms. Tormont. Please leave the questioning to Mr. Paul." He said, his tone quiet, as if unwilling to interrupt.

After Sana's questioning was over, Mr. Gregor had no more witnesses to call to the stand but one. He'd already called Dusty, Bruce, Rick, Sana, Alfred, James, Nurse Smith – the one who had pulled the plug on Rachel's life monitor - , even Clementine and Isabelle up to the stand, each telling facts that not only cleared Dusty, but condemned Montague and Watson more and more. Other pieces of evidence were also brought into account, such as the security cameras in the libraries, and certain key documents.

Then came the last witness.

"I call as my last witness, Thomas Peyton," Mr. Gregor declared. Dusty's mouth fell open. Richard's face darkened. Montague paled, and Watson's calm exterior cracked, a very worried expression crossing his face as he sat up straight before he regained control over himself, and lowered himself back into his chair. Thomas, handcuffed and escorted by two officers, emerged from the side room where many of Montague's witnesses had gone – for reasons that Dusty wasn't sure of – and was seated on the witness stand. Mr. Gregor, instead of picking up a paper like he normally did, walked to the area in front of the stand.

"Mr. Peyton, your name came up during the investigation, and you requested to come here. Explain yourself," He simply said. Thomas sat there for a minute looking at everyone present, before locking eyes with Dusty. Then he began to speak.

"I was in jail for a robbery when I heard about Mrs. Wayne going on trial for three murders, and who her prosecutors were. I wanted to tell you what I knew," He said, his eyes turning slowly back to Mr. Gregor as he spoke.

"Why should we listen to you?"

"Because I was the one who killed two of them, for _them_," He pointed at Montague and Watson. The room went deadly silent. Although his name had come up in terms to Judy, no one had expected such a brazen confession.

"Which ones?" Mr. Gregor said, the first to recover his composure, with practiced and seamless ease.

"Judy Peyton – my wife. Also the little girl – Dorothy, I think her name was," He looked down, "Let me tell you, sir, I have done awful things in my life – those two weren't the first people I've killed. But nothing has horrified me as much as watching those two die."

"You watched them die?"

"Not completely. I'm not that much of a sadist. I left with the rest both times, but I lingered, watching Judy fall unconscious from blood loss, and I watched the shelf fall on Dorothy," He said, his voice pained with the anguish of someone who knew without a doubt knew what he had done was wrong. "It was Judy's that really jarred me into thinking about what I'd done, or at least what I should have done instead of doing the things I did."

Mr. Gregor cleared his throat. "How did you get involved with the Misters Watson and Montague, here known as Misters Paul and Davidson?"

Montague rose sharply, "Objection!"

Mr. Gregor twisted around sharply, his face indignant – almost angry - at the persistence of the charade. "Mr. Montague, can you really believe that after the travesty you have played through in this courtroom, as well as the accusations that have been placed in your charge, and confirmed by every viable witness in this courtroom you can still have any authority in here? Sit _down_," He commanded. The courtroom was silent. Montague looked angrily at the judge. The judge was also silent, looking between the two lawyers. His face was as hard as rock.

"Objection overruled, prosecutor. Please take your seat and pray that you are not the one we send to jail," The judge said coldly. Montague sat down, his expression livid.

Tom spoke, "I was recruited shortly after Mrs. Wayne - about six months after the murder of my mother. I remember seeing Mrs. Wayne from time to time at what she knew as the Tibet Masters of the Future Academy, but we were never formally introduced. I was trained, accepted into the League of Shadows, and then sent on certain missions. Before Mrs. Wayne's defection, when she was first showing signs of uneasiness for the cause of worldwide justice, I was sent to Gotham, and was instructed to find a member of Gotham Foster Homes and marry her, and from there try to adopt Mr. Grayson through all the legal channels. It wasn't hard. Judy was beautiful and had one of the best personalities disposed for the happiness of others. I think I actually started to fall in love with her. From there we took in Richard, and I learned more on how a family really worked. It was so hard to keep from her what I was really doing." He looked down at Dusty, his eyes trained on, but not seeing her.

"The night she died, when Montague and Watson were sneaking around the house, I went outside and they told me what they were going to do. I don't know why I didn't rebel then, it would have been easy to just walk away from them, to never come to their aid. But I came anyway, because somehow I didn't recognize that freedom was what I wanted. From that night my life has spiraled down into the worst mistake that humankind has ever seen. I deserve to pay for what I have done. I don't know what Mrs. Wayne has done, but she cannot pay – I will not let her pay – for the things that I have done."

The courtroom was silent. Montague was not given the opportunity to speak. The judge looked at Mr. Gregor whose face was perfectly controlled.

"Do you have any more witnesses?" Mr. Gregor shook his head. "Mr. Gregor, do you have a summary?"

"Yes, your honor. We have shown, that although Mrs. Wayne is by no means a perfect person, she is innocent of the murders of Miss Mendelssohn, Mrs. Peyton and Ms. Dawes. I am sure the jury agrees that she has never meant any harm to these people, and certainly did not kill them. We have also shown, that through her innate sense of character, and due to inconsistencies in time and certain key characteristics, such as size and gender, that she is not the masked vigilante Batman."

"Does that conclude the evidence?" Both attorneys nodded, Montague unwillingly. The judge nodded toward the jury at his right. "You have heard the evidence. You are now to decide whether Mrs. Wayne is guilty of the murders of Judy Peyton, Dorothy Mendelssohn, and Rachel Dawes. Will you please go with the bailiff to the jury room and when you have decided, would you please come back and inform us as to her innocence?"

They were gone only ten minutes.

They filed back in, sitting in their seats. The judge rapped his gavel.

"Have you reached a verdict?" The judge asked. A large imposing man stood.

"Yes we have, your honor." He said, his baritone voice ringing through the courtroom.

"What is the verdict?"

"The jury has voted and determined not only that Mrs. Wayne is not guilty, but she is not the masked vigilante known as the Batman, and she has been blackmailed and framed by those we know as Misters Paul and Davidson, though we now know their true names are Montague and Watson."

He sat down. Dusty bowed her head, grateful tears of inexpressible relief coursing down her cheeks. Bruce enveloped her in his arms, holding her as tightly as he could without hurting her. Dusty turned into him, feeling safe in his arms. She opened her eyes to look at Watson over Bruce's shoulder. His face was calm.

Suddenly, Dusty watched Watson's face change into absolute, mind-numbing fury. Then, he went berserk. He pulled out a gun – what kind and caliber Dusty wasn't sure – and started shooting. Dusty saw him hit two people, the judge and someone in the crowd behind her before Bruce reacted, shoving her down to the floor, landing on top her, cradling her head and neck and protecting her body from the bullets whizzing around them and digging into the table. People were rushing around, screaming hysterically, trying to get out of the courtroom.

It was all over in another minute. Montague and Tanner, the men that had been with Watson, were on the floor, pinned underneath piles of at least five policemen each. Watson himself was nowhere to be found, but a window was open. Dusty looked around as she stood, accepting Bruce's help to stand. People had started to calm down, but tensions were still running high. She looked around. Rick was getting up, and so was Mr. Gregor, his hand bloodied from where a bullet from Watson had nicked it. Commissioner Gordon was over by Montague and Tanner, overseeing that they were being locked up better than a vault of diamonds, and others were standing too, but she couldn't see two people. Sana and James. She looked around, trying to catch sight of them, before she saw James kneeling on the floor, whispering to someone.

She was over there before she could think. Sana lay on the floor, blood blossoming over her shirt, her face twisted in pain. Time seemed to slow into a stop. She remembered screaming for an ambulance, her heart racing in fear, trying to rush forward. Gordon was suddenly by her side a hand around her waist and another grabbing her wrist. She grabbed onto his arm, her fingers tighter than a vice. His words, probably telling her to calm down, rushed past her ears unheard.

She watched Sana, grimacing in pain as she laid there, and as she was eventually loaded onto a stretcher.

_One more…_ she thought, the other voices echoing around her like ghosts.

_One more_.

* * *

Thanks to Dragonsdaughter1 for reviewing!

Please review!

Until Next week!

~Sabre


	54. Chapter FiftyThree: Pain and Panic

I was about to go to bed, and I realized that I hadn't posted this chapter yet.

Enjoy!

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Chapter Fifty-Three

Bruce and Dusty didn't go home after the trial. They went straight to the hospital, along with Commissioner Gordon, who had stayed on to offer protection to Dusty, despite her assurance that she probably wouldn't need it. When they got to the hospital, they were told that Sana was in surgery, and were ushered to a waiting room to sit alongside a very pensive, nervous, and anxious James. Dusty saw him, face pale and drawn, Sana's blood still on his hands, and went over to him, her heart almost bursting with pity. She bent down beside him, putting one hand on his shoulder.

"James, come on. Let's get you cleaned up," she said softly, grabbing his arm to help him up, rising to her feet. He shook his head, still trying to wrap his head around the events of the day.

"He just shot her, Dusty, just as if she was a paper target," he whispered. Dusty lowered back down beside him.

"James, Watson…" She trailed off, trying to find the right words, struggling with all of the many emotions of her own running through her heart and mind, "Watson doesn't realize the value of human life. To him, she _was_ just a target, one that had hurt him. We can't do anything to change that, except maybe decide that we will never be like that ourselves," she said, her voice soft and gentle, though with an undercurrent of sympathy and pain of her own, "Sana will be fine, believe me." She assured him, "She's strong, she's smart and she's got every reason in the world to live." Then she took his blood-covered hands in her own and pulled him to his feet.

"Come on. When Sana comes to, she will be perfectly horrified that you let yourself look like this," She said, smiling, leading him toward the restroom.

It was another four hours before they got the news that Sana was in the clear. The bullet, while it had caused considerable damage, had not severed her pulmonary artery, and the damage that it had caused in the tissues surrounding her heart would be repairable, and she was expected to make a full recovery, provided there was no infection and she took care of herself. After that, there was no justifiable reason, though Dusty tried to make one up, for them to stay. After all Sana had done for Dusty, and after all that Dusty had put her through, she wanted to be there, and put in as much time at Sana's side as she could. And on top of all that, Sana was Dusty's best friend. What else could she do for her?

But eventually with the combined efforts of James, who promised to take care of Sana when she awoke, Bruce, who reminded her of the day's events, Rick, and Alfred, she was convinced, albeit unwillingly, to leave. However, she did give certain instructions to be followed while she was gone as she was being herded out the door.

"Make sure you call me as soon as she wakes up. And be sure to make her follow the doctor's instructions. She's not as bad as me, but you'll still need to watch out for her. And if I find out you didn't take care of her to your fullest ability, James, so help me I'll - " Bruce shut the door before she could finish, nodding to James in farewell, a slight smile on his face, but considering how well James knew Dusty, he didn't dare to treat that unfinished threat lightly, despite their friendship. But he also knew that all of his motivation could be successful summed up in that one fiery little redhead.

Dusty's adrenaline supply ran out in the car, leaving her tired and rather lifeless on the ride home. As she listened to the many things that happened during her sojourn in jail, she leaned against Bruce's shoulder, his arm around her waist, and Rick's hand in hers and soaked in the feeling of belonging and love that she felt from the people she felt were her family. Was that the thing that had been missing? She felt more complete, somehow, surrounded by the people she loved, and knew genuinely loved her.

Was there any better feeling in the world? She soaked it in, and slowly drifted off to sleep, for now all her troubles in the world forgotten.

She woke up as the car stopped, and walked into the house on her own. It was the most curious sensation as she walked through the house, seeing a place she'd thought she'd never set eyes on again. She walked up to her room, still clean and neat, a fresh bouquet of flowers on her desk, and immediately set herself for getting ready for bed, a warm feeling of unending gratitude in her heart.

* * *

She slept soundly all night, with no upsetting dreams disturbing her. When she awoke in the morning, it was incredible to think that so much had happened. After getting ready and going through her morning routine in the usual manner, she went down to eat breakfast. Halfway through her mushroom, bacon and red pepper omelet, she received a phone call.

"Hello?"

"Dusty, this is James. Sana's awake. She wanted to see you." She took one look at her omelet and put down her fork. Nodding at Alfred in thanks, mouthing 'Sana' and 'hospital', she started toward the garage.

"Alright. I'll be down there in twenty minutes. I'll call you if I'll be longer than that." She said, slipping on a pair of sandals that were waiting by the door. She wasn't sure they were actually hers, but they were obviously no one's favorite sandals, as both Bruce and Dusty kept their favorite footwear in their closets, and to her knowledge Rick didn't have any sandals. She climbed into her car, and ripped out of the garage, barely under the speed limit.

She drove to the hospital much in her usual way, albeit not in a hurry, and less than twenty minutes later she made it to the hospital. James was there at the front desk to meet her. They chatted amiably as they walked up to Sana's room. Sana was sitting slightly elevated in her hospital, looking like she was concentrating very hard on the ceiling.

"Bored?" Dusty asked from the doorway. Sana looked down from the tiled at her.

"Did you know there are fifty-seven tiles in the ceiling of my room?" She asked, her voice more raspy than normal, but otherwise not looking too hard hit. Dusty walked in casually, looking up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, there looks like there'd be about fifty-seven up there. Of course you got one of the deluxe ICU suites." She said coming to the side of Sana's bed.

"Ooh, lucky me. I mean, I could become infected and die any minute, but at least I'm in the _deluxe_ suite," Sana said, rolling her eyes. "By the way, thanks for handing me the 'get in a hospital free' card. Now I really hate Watson." Dusty smiled.

"I can't say I'm too kindly disposed toward him myself," She said, fingering the flowers in one of the vases, "With any luck he should have high-tailed it back to Tibet, though. With Montague and Tanner captured, he has to fix his chain of command in his line of the League of Shadows," She said, moving back over to her, pulling up a chair to the side of her bed. James looked into the door.

"Hey, Dusty, do you want something to eat?" He asked. She shook her head.

"I ate before I came," She said, turning back to Sana. Sana was looking after James, a small smile on her face.

"He's very considerate, isn't he?" Sana said softly, watching James nod and leave, probably to go to the cafeteria for his own breakfast. Dusty nodded.

"He is. He's always been that way. Not very smart sometimes, but very considerate, especially to those he cares about." She turned back to Sana when she said that. Sana smiled again.

"You know he's asked me to marry him?" She asked. Dusty's eyebrows rose, but in delight.

"Really? When? What was your answer?"

"Yes, the fourth of April, and I don't know," Sana said, her smile lessening somewhat. Dusty's eyebrows rose, this time in confusion.

"What?" She asked, wondering if she had misheard her friend. The look on Sana's face did nothing to reassure her that she had, in fact heard wrong.

"I just don't know. I mean, I love James, I love everything that he's done for me, and how helpful he's been. I know I could be with him forever. I just don't know if I want to change," She sighed. Dusty sighed as well. At first she just didn't know what to say. Then, slowly, a simple thought came into her mind.

"Sana, why are you afraid of change? You've been changing all your life," She asked, taking Sana's hand. Sana sighed.

"Just…last time I got engaged the guy ran off with some French chick. And…it just hurt so badly. Plus…I don't know if I want to get married so soon. I mean, I'm only twenty-seven, it's not like I'm in a hurry." Dusty smiled, lapsing into silence. She thought of her relationship with Bruce. They were the exception, surely. It wasn't as if people usually fell in love because they got married.

"I wasn't either," She said finally, "In a hurry, I mean." Dusty clarified, "But if you're not in a hurry, then why wait? Just because you have time doesn't always mean it's even right to wait," Dusty said. Then she shook her head. "I'm giving marriage advice…" She said, shaking her head, then putting her head in her hands. Sana smiled.

"It's fine," Sana said, "I just have to think about it more, I guess." With that, the subject ended, and after a short visit from the nurses to check Sana's vitals the two fell into relaxed conversation. James come back shortly after that, his breakfast done, and the three simply talked for the next few hours. Around six in the evening, over an interestingly flavored hospital meal, there was a knock on the door.

Dusty half turned to see Bruce in the doorway, smiling.

"I thought I might find you here," He said to Dusty. Then, "Sana, how are you?"

"Meh. I feel like I got shot in the chest," She said, her voice filled with mock annoyance, pulling a face.

"Funny thing," He said in reply, nodding to James. Then he turned to Dusty again. "Can I talk to you outside?" She nodded, and stood, being careful to not upset the TV tray that held her food. She followed him out the door and down the hallway a short distance.

"What is it?" She asked. He handed her two small pieces of paper, encased in plastic. One was a chilling poem, much in Watson's style, obviously about her, and then another, with only line.

_Fear the horde_. Dusty looked at the first one again. Her thoughts stuttered.

"He – he wouldn't. Attack Gotham, I mean – it, well it - " Bruce broke into her disjointed exclamation smoothly.

"Whether he would or not, I want you to go back to the house and stay there. Alfred and Rick are there already with firm instructions not to leave."

"Where did you find the note?" She whispered. He paused, not wanting to admit it in such an open place. But then he gave in.

"Nurse Smith was found dead in her apartment this morning. Gunshot wound to the head. It was the same caliber as the one that hit Sana." Dusty closed her eyes, pained to hear it. So Watson hadn't left the country. Bruce continued, "The note was found clenched in her fist. It looked like there had been a struggle. She fought back." The ghost of a smile crossed Dusty's lips for a mere instant.

"What about Sana? And James?" She asked, looking up at him. "They're not safe here."

"There's an extra few guards that Commissioner Gordon sent over, plus the bodyguard that Sana hired a few months ago, who's a retired SWAT team member. I checked him out personally, completely trustworthy, and highly skilled." Dusty breathed out in relief. Then he continued, "But you need to go back to the Manor, Dusty, it's too dangerous for you to be out and about when something like this is going down," He said. She shook her head, "Dusty," he said, his voice insistent. She looked up at him, "You have to believe me. Their sole objective is to destroy Gotham." He looked at her with a half leveling and half pleading look. She looked right back, the two slides of plastic pressed hard between her fingers.

"Because of me," She said shortly, looking him straight in the eye. He sighed.

"Dusty, the note didn't say anything about going after you. Hopefully that means that he intends to leave you alone." Bruce said. Dusty sighed, not entirely willing to believe it.

"And what if he doesn't?" She asked. He was about to answer when a nurse walked by, obviously noticing the couple, and listening. He looked at her intensely until she left, a faint shade of chagrin pink crossing her cheeks as she walked swiftly away.

"I'll tell you at the house," He said, touching her arm. "Now go in there, tell Sana and James you have to go, then we'll leave."

"But I brought my car," She said, almost protesting. He looked up and down the hallway.

"That's okay. It's locked, and hopefully it might lead Watson off your trail," He said, guiding her back toward Sana's room. "Now, we need to go. Don't take long; we need to get back to Alfred and Rick," He said.

The farewell to Sana and James was short and almost hurried. Dusty told them something had come up at home, and that she was needed there. Sana and James both said their good-byes and soon Dusty and Bruce were on their way back to the Manor.

The ride was spent in silence. Dusty's heart pounded in apprehension. Was it only her imagination that this 'fear the horde' thing was just a cover-up job? To get Gotham on edge? Or were they really intending to destroy it? Gotham was more resilient than most people gave it credit for, but what did this attack consist of? Straight on murder of citizens? With Watson at the head of the column, she wouldn't put it past notice.

At long last they got to the house. As soon as they passed the garage door and moved into the garage, Bruce pressed the garage door button, closing the door. He then moved up to the next empty parking spot and parked. He turned the car off. Then, taking the garage door opener off the sunshade of the car, he turned it over, revealing a keypad. Dusty blinked. Was that on all of them?

"Is nothing of yours normal?" She asked, a bit astonished. He smiled faintly, pressing in a code, then turning it over and pressing the door button again, but this time holding it down. He looked toward the garage door. Suddenly there was a multitude of small slick sounds, like a thousand locks clicking shut at once.

"A few things are," Bruce said, answering her question, "My Rolex is, in fact, a Rolex. I do not have a phone in my shoe, and as far as I know I do not have a telephone booth as the entrance to my secret lair."

"But you do have a secret lair, a locking garage door, a practically human car, a secret persona, a - "

"I think I get the point," He interrupted, then smiled, "Come on, I have a few more gadgets to show you," he said.

"Ones that I've built?" She asked. He smiled, got out of the car, circled it and helped her out as well.

"No, you've been busy lately. Mr. Fox developed what you're about to see," He said, pulling the door of the garage adjoining the house open. He led her up to the upper family room, where Alfred and Rick were waiting. After explaining which rooms were completely secure, he then pulled out several walkie-talkie looking gadgets. Handing one to each member of the room, he instructed them in their use.

"These are one way panic channels. I will have one, tuned in to each one of your signals. They're small, so you can carry them everywhere, but they are absolutely necessary, and under the circumstances it is imperative to keep these on you at all times," He said his voice grave. "I have to go help Commissioner Gordon, but if any of you need me, press it, and I will be back as soon as I can."

Alfred and Rick nodded, and turned back to go into the secure set of rooms, which included Rick's, Dusty's and the small kitchenette on the same floor. Dusty stayed.

"Bruce, wait," She said, her voice small, a sinking feeling pulling her heart downward. He turned from where he was going to leave to his study. Alfred and Rick continued to the rooms, leaving them alone.

"What is it?" he asked. She looked down, feeling ultimately foolish, but a fear had struck her that she could not shake.

"What if…you don't come back?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The light outside was dimming, leaving the shadows long and the light in the room limited to the light filtering through the window. He looked down for a moment, uncertainty crossing his face for a moment.

"Then you will carry on," He said. She sighed and tried to turn away. He put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her from turning completely. "Dusty, listen to me. I go through this every night, wondering if someone will catch me unawares, for people to find out my secret. But I keep on going out every night because I also know that someone out there needs my help, and if I'm not there to give it to them, someone could die who would have otherwise been saved, and the shadow of chaos and crime would descend over Gotham. I can't let that happen. I've been fighting for so long to prevent that," Bruce said softly. She sighed, and nodded, then looked down to the ground.

"I just don't know if I could let you go," She whispered. Here it was. The thing that had been sneaking up on her for so long. The one thing that she wasn't sure that she could admit to anyone, least of all herself. She looked at him, on one hand curious, but on the other hand absolutely terrified that he didn't feel the same way. He smiled and her heart lifted. Then he took her closer in an embrace.

"You don't have to let me go," He said, his breath moving the hairs on the top of her head, "Because I'm not going anywhere. Watson is at the head of this thing, all of the others are pawns, only coming along with this because he's they're leader. I know both him and from what I read about his company in your planners-" She made a disgruntled noise, "It was to prove your innocence, I promise. But from what I've read, there shouldn't be any problem with getting them to disband once Watson is taken into custody." Dusty sighed, but deep down, she knew it was true.

"Are you sure he'll be with them, though?" She asked, her head resting on his shoulder, "What if he just sends them off ahead of him, and goes after the people who ruined his scheme, like he did with Nurse Smith?" He thought about it for a moment.

"We've already got a small scale evacuation of the inner city going. People don't know the entire reason why, but the police have told them that they need to seek shelter elsewhere due to a possible terrorist threat."

"Why are you evacuating the inner city? I would have thought that they would strike here," She asked, drawing away slightly.

"Inscribed in Nurse Smith's wall was a crude map of the center of town. As much as it is hard to believe, that's the only lead we have to go on, and the last thing we need is to have a hostage situation," He said. Looking up at him, she nodded, the corners of her mouth turned down slightly.

"I don't like it," She said begrudgingly. "The whole thing sounds too convenient. Too planned."

"Which is why I gave you the panic buttons. And in case I can't get there so fast, at least you are trained. And I saw you training today. Dusty, you're _far_ beyond the level you were at when we first started practicing together," He said, trying to reassure her. She sighed.

"I'd still feel better if I was a little stronger in my upper body. As you so deftly proved, speed isn't everything," She said, pulling back away and touching her neck in an almost reflective matter.

"You'll do fine," He said, touching her shoulders gently. She shook her head.

"I wish I had your reassurance," She said, her voice tired and scared. He stepped closer. Then, slowly, he leaned down and kissed her. As he did, a hidden courage seemed to fill her soul. Bruce believed in her, and he did not place his trust lightly. If he believed in her, at least she could try.

When he finally drew back, she embraced him closely, his warmness bringing comfort and stability to her heart. She could feel him smiling.

"You'll do fine, and I will come back. I promise," He pulled away slightly and looked into her clear green eyes, smiling. "I still owe you a happily ever after."

* * *

Well. Forgive the lateness of the hour (even for me) but I had it all fixed up, all prettied up, and then I promptly forgot about it until I was ready to run to bed. Then I frantically scrambled to get it up. So. Yeah.

Thanks to Bryt who patiently badgered me until I got this to her. You're awesome. Keep rockin'. And sorry for making you cry for the past few chapters... I hope they weren't me driving you to tears by my poor grammer and punctuation. Anyway... :D

Also, thanks to Bryt, High Queen Crystal (I *never* get LOTR fixes... EVER. ;-)), suchicken, and ixamxeverywhere for reviewing.

Until next week!

~Sabre


	55. Chapter Fifty Four: To All Ends

Here it is! Suggested Music Choice: What Have You Done (Featuring Keith Caputo) (Extended Version) by Within Temptation

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Four

She sat in her room, looking out of the window, trying not to let herself think about what Bruce was going though. It was dark now. She looked up at the stars, wishing on every single one up there that she saw that her husband would make it back safely.

It was quiet in the house. Alfred and Richard were in Rick's room, having carried a portable television in there and plugged it in, trying to ignore the danger that everyone knew they were in. She'd gone in and watched with them for a little while, but for the life of her, all she could think of was that night after she had given Richard to the foster family, and that feeling of abandonment. That gut wrenching feeling over and over again.

This was getting ridiculous. Dusty sighed and decided to go to bed. She was exhausted, if not from the day's events, then the stress she was under. Quickly, she entered her bathroom and got ready for bed. After changing into her pajamas she reverted back to her childhood ways for a moment as she ran and jumped into bed. Once in bed and tucked in, she almost expected to lay awake for hours, but instead, the moment her head hit the pillow she was fast asleep.

* * *

She awoke to a sound. Somehow it was irregular, almost like someone had dropped or slammed something in another room. She looked at the clock. It was almost midnight. Was Rick or Alfred up? Not likely. Well, not Rick anyway. Alfred? Quite possibly. Bruce wouldn't be back yet, would he? If the League was involved, then certainly it wouldn't be only five hours that he would be gone. Surely it would be at least into the early hours of the morning.

It wasn't right, whatever it was. Flipping the covers off of herself, she got out of bed. Choosing for stealth, she didn't bother with slippers or her robe. Walking to the door, she knelt down to the level of the doorknob. Unscrewing the handle halfway, she then pulled down, revealing a type of periscope. She peered into it, trying to see for any indicative light. It was coming from the kitchen. She sighed. Maybe it was just Alfred or Rick, up for a drink in the middle of the night. It wasn't unusual. Rick had nearly scared her out of her skin once when he sneaked past her room at the same time she opened the door to go get a drink as well.

She might as well go get a drink herself, anyway. An annoying habit of hers, especially since she had a habit of sleeping on her back, was for her mouth to fall open while she slept. Coupled with a cold, it meant she snored, but under normal terms, it usually just blessed her with a very dry mouth. So she opened the door and started down the hall. Just as she thought, she heard someone shuffling around in the kitchen. It almost sounded like Alfred, but did Alfred wear boots? In the house? She didn't think so. Maybe it _was_ Bruce, not bothering to change out of his boots. She rounded the corner.

It was Watson. Fear exploded inside her as he looked toward her, smiled and pulled out a gun with a silencer on the end. _He got in_, was the only thought that pulsed through Dusty for a full second before she turned tail and shot down the hallway, away from the room where Rick slept. She presumed Alfred was with him. She heard the silenced shot report in the quiet house and vaguely felt a burning zing across her shoulder as the bullet nicked her on the way past, driving full tilt into the wall, a small puff of white dust from the dry wall exploding out from the hole as she ran toward it. She was nearing a corner, she knew, where she could enter a maze of corridors that she could give him the slip for the moment, or at least enough time to dress her wound.

Make that wounds. As she rounded the corner, going so fast she planted a foot on the wall as to not run into it, another sharp report of a bullet, this one hitting, and then deflecting off her shoulder blade, an angry trail of white-hot pain following the bullet's path. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep as quiet as possible, while a whimper escaped out of her lips. She glanced back as she turned the corner, Watson poised at the other end shooter's stance perfect, aiming at where she was headed. This was absolutely insane. She knew she couldn't run forever, how could she possibly get him on firm ground so she could end this one way or another without bringing her brother into danger?

The dance room. She ran down the hallways, bolting past other darkened corridors that her imagination filled with members of the League, armed to the teeth and wanting to kill her. But she knew Watson better than that. His lieutenants had failed him. The legal system had failed him. It was time to end it himself.

Winding her way through the halls, she eventually burst into Bruce's study, then quickly turning and closing the door silently behind her. The moon shone brightly through the window, illuminating the room's contents. She would head down to the Batcave in a moment. There was one thing she needed to retrieve first. She walked over to the piano. It had been months since she had first recognized it for what it was. But as she walked to the piano and ran her hand over the side, she felt the familiar lettering.

DG+ES.

Dwayne Grayson and Elizabeth Shraeder. For their fifteenth wedding anniversary. And the only person they had told about the hidden item inside it was Dusty. She scooted under it, trying her best, and failing rather miserably, not to drip blood on the carpet. She lay on her back for a moment. Then, opening a small, very tight fitting door at the bottom of the piano, invisible to anyone who didn't know what it was, she found it. Or, to be more appropriate, _them_.

Her father had been a fencer, and had a third degree black belt in jujitsu, and was counted a master of the art. But his ultimate weapon, one that Dusty had been trained to use, even before Watson, was a set of wakizashis, or Japanese short swords. She remembered seeing them once when her father had given a demonstration (his only demonstration outside of class) when she was thirteen. After that, they had been locked away, and before he died, he'd told Dusty, a student of jujitsu, where they were.

"Never use them unless you are sure that you have no other choice," He'd said, letting her hold the short weapons. "These will kill people. Easily, unless you have the utmost control." She'd nodded, thinking that he was just telling her to get her motivated for jujitsu. But the point had been driven home when she saw an identical weapon slit his throat less than a year later. Whatever the warnings now, though, she could not help but be grateful for a father who trusted his daughter enough to tell her about a weapon that would now, hopefully, save her life.

She dressed into her armor quickly, having bandaged her wounds. Mostly they just stung, but every so often she would move it incorrectly and a sharp double jab of pain would remind her of their very real existence. Then she strapped the pair of swords to her back. She bundled up her hair into a style similar to what it had been in Tibet, this time sticking six-inch needle sharp hairpins into her hair, each one with a miniature dragon etched into the surface.

There was a mirror therein the cabinet that held her armor. She looked into it. Her skin was pale, probably due to the loss of blood or fatigue, and mild shadows were underneath her eyes from fatigue. She was encased in black, slimming down her figure, and the nature of the costume drawing the eyes away from if one looked too close, causing her to involuntarily slip into the shadows.

She didn't look like Dusty Grayson. Or even Dusty Wayne.

She saw the dragon draped over her shoulders, something that Bruce had insisted on. "It's your symbol," He had said, draping his arm around her shoulders as they had examined it.

So she was a Dragon. A Dragon Warrior. She pulled herself up. To do what was expected of her, she couldn't be Dusty Grayson Wayne. She would need to become this Dragon enigma, a person, a monster of her own creation. And for her family, for her city, for her _world_, she would do it.

* * *

She left the note around the first corner she had turned. She was fairly certain that Watson was elsewhere, and that was what gave her the courage to venture so close to where she had seen him last. Even then, she snuck away. She waited a half an hour, crouched behind a statue in an enclave right by Rick's room down the hall from where she could see the note in plain sight. Then Watson came, and picked up the note. She knew he knew where she meant. Watson was not a fool, and would certainly not enter a house he had not studied extensively.

He looked around for a moment, trying to see into the darkness. Dusty froze, breathing as quietly as she could, hoping that it was at least close to as quiet as was humanely possible. Then he moved on, heading in the direction of the dance room. She waited five extra minutes, and then made her way stealthily down to the dance room. It was still dark when she walked down the stairs, but she knew he was in there. She put on her most nonchalant face, and walked in. Watson turned on the lights.

"Nice to see you, Dusty. How's the back?" He asked. He thought he'd hit her full on, or at least once. She pretended to think about it.

"Not so bad. I've got this kink in it-"

"Enough." He interrupted. She was surprised, and she lowered her arms carefully to her sides. Under normal circumstances he would have let her go on and on until she was blue in the face. But as she looked into his eyes, she understood why.

He had had enough. He was ready to finish the job, and didn't want any banter to get in the way. Or so she thought until he began to speak.

"I really believed in you. Ever since I saw you at Princeton at sixteen years old. Your strength and intelligence was unparalleled at your age. That's why I went to the trouble of recruiting you. To put up the charade, to make sure you became one of us."

"What?" For the second time that day, or two days, by now it was after midnight, she was stymied, her expression and posture clearly indicating this. What could he possibly mean?

"Did you never wonder why your parents were killed?" He asked, a wolfish look coming across his face. Her face lost all emotion.

"You killed them?" She said, her voice suddenly void of everything but sound.

"The perfect murder," He reminisced, his voice whimsical, and deeply self satisfied, "with a cover up for everything, including motive. The FBI would have never attributed it to the League in a million years. They were too focused on their work as undercover policemen. As if that did anything to put them in danger. We pay off the mob as much as they pay off everyone else."

Dusty was trying hard to keep her face emotionless. Screams echoed through her brain as she watched her mother fight against the belt that was tightened around her neck, and her father falling limp, gasping for air as blood fell like rain from his neck. Dusty felt the same horror she felt that horrible night almost ten years before. Her birthday party, ended in tragedy, a tradition that in recent years had been reinstated. She was sinking deeper and deeper into her deadening state of mind when she saw the flash of metal. Realizing what it was, she reacted, kicking the gun away, immediately falling into a defensive position. The gun fired as it hit the ground, firing, causing one of the mirrors to shatter, the broken pieces falling like reflective crystals before shattering on the ground. Watson twisted at the waist and brought out a ninjato from behind him, a cold snake etched into the blade.

She'd heard Watson's nickname five years before. She hadn't really understood it to much depth until now.

The Viper. The deadly snake. Vindictive and spiteful, always seeking revenge. Always causing pain.

Fear struck her heart.

Then she drew her blade. At the same time as the horrible cold feeling of terror was trying to worm its way into her soul, she rejected it. She rejected it with every fiber of her being. She would not be afraid of him. She would conquer him, and everything he stood for.

He swung. She deflected it with her own blade and brought out the other sword, swinging it toward his head. He ducked, and swung his blade toward her ribs. She jumped back and in half a second of distraction, he knocked one of the swords out of her hands, causing her left hand, her subsidiary hand, to buzz from the impact. She cursed the luck, and then brought the other bright sword, undimmed by age to the en guard position. He came toward her. She swung as hard as she could at the sword. She noticed the angle the two swords made right before the collided, and she shielded her face as her short sword shattered Watson's blade. Then she finished her slice and scored a nasty pierce in Watson's armor.

He drew back.

"Why could you not just give in to the hate I knew you felt? You were the strongest, smartest student I had. The world could have been yours!" Dusty looked at him, an impenetrable look on her face.

"What would I do with the world?" She said softly, "The things that you wanted me to do were unjustifiable – for any reward. I cannot imagine that you can justify murder, and the most gruesome and ghastly things in the world by offering power. Power is useless unless a responsible person holds it, and anything to do with the League of Shadows proves that one is unable to be responsible."

"You joined!"

"And I wasn't responsible! I let my grief consume me to a point where I couldn't think of anyone else beyond myself. A responsible person thinks of others. They only _do _things that benefit others. The League of Shadows believes that if someone does someone else wrong, the victim has the right, the entitlement to enact revenge. That is _not_ true!" She paused, "The only true justice is either by a perfect, impartial judge, or an impartial system. Since no one on Earth is perfect, we must leave it to the law. You have turned your back on this, and I cannot condone it."

"You sound like a weak minded bureaucrat."

"That may be, but I don't find that an insult. The people who uphold the law and let those who are chosen to do so execute the law show faith in other men to do the right thing. They realize that for the right thing to happen they don't have to avenge themselves. They practice principles of restraint and patience. There is nothing to be ashamed of!"

"But they are corrupt. They consistently have to reform their societies over and over again!"

"But when they do, they realize that they have done wrong and see the need for change. People are not as evil as you wish them to be. You are just trying to justify the things that you feel you need to do," Her voice had gone low and intense, "And I cannot be a part of that. Kill me if you must, but I stand assured my death will only convince those that matter that a society where people are free to act for themselves is good and right, as long as they are following guidelines to help their systems stay as stable as they can for as long as the system is able," Her look grew hard, and immovable, "I'm not afraid to die, and I'm not afraid of you, either."

In that instant, something left. Watson watched a little girl grow into a woman, and then watched that woman grow into a mighty warrior. And he knew that she was not afraid. So, he attacked, and she met him head on, leaping into the air. He grabbed her ankle, and she bent backwards, diving between his legs, pulling him off balance and causing him to let go of her ankle. She rolled onto her feet, quick as a cat, then attacking him from behind. He threw her off, sending her sliding across the floor on her stomach toward the broken mirror. She dug in her feet to stop herself, and then stood. He walked toward her calmly, deliberately, trying to force her to rethink her decision. She wouldn't do it. He didn't see even a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

Watson realized two things in that instant. The first, that he'd lost the battle for Justine Wayne's soul. The second, that the only way to get out of here unscathed was to cheat. He hadn't taught her everything, and he was suddenly glad. So he ran at her. She braced herself for impact, but at the last second he dropped to the ground and grabbed the gun off the ground. He fired three times, the last bullets remaining in the chamber. He could have sworn that all three shots hit her. But they didn't slow her down if they did. In the second that he hesitated to see if his shots were true, she moved, sending her clenched fists across the back of his neck. He went down, stunned. She stepped back. He knew that she wouldn't kill him. Batman or not (which he, unlike that fool Montague, knew she was not) she spent enough time around the real Batman to know that she wouldn't kill anyone, not to mention her own moral standing.

He lay on the ground noticing that Justine watched him carefully. She was no fool. He would have to act quickly. So he feigned a worse reaction than he had sustained, so he could work loose a pin from his jacket, much similar to the pins in Justine's hair. Then, once it was in his hand, he started to 'recover'. The minute he had his breath back, he threw the razor sharp dart at her. She twitched, and the needle went spinning away, Dusty managing to move her arm from her side to her face in the blink of an eye.

Growling furiously, he dove for her, swinging at her face. She blocked it, following it up with a punch of her own. He tried to get her into a more maneuverable position, but the girl just wouldn't back up. She held her ground fiercely refusing to move another inch for him.

Then he got his chance. Taking a sharp stiletto knife from his belt, as she twisted away from him, he stabbed it into her back, where the thick Kevlar suit was stretched. It went right through. He felt it puncture her skin and slide it into her flesh and sharply pulled it out. But if he had thought it would slow her for a moment, he was wrong. She completed her turn, bringing up her right leg and delivering a roundhouse, then added to the injury by jumping and clouted him in the head with her other leg. He went down, momentarily unconscious.

Landing, Dusty gasped in pain, reaching and touching her back. Her hand came away red and wet. Breathing deeply, trying to get control over herself and the pain, she reached for the panic button on her belt, to realize that she had left it in her room. Closing her eyes, cursing herself for her thoughtless action, she looked around for something she could use. As she turned her back on Watson, he got up, leaping through the air at her. She gasped, but it was too late. They slammed into the mirror behind her, driving the air out of her, and shattering the glass behind them. Glass rained in her hair, and she felt the sting as the sharp shards ripped her scalp in at least two places. They both went down. Dusty felt there was no other choice. In a movement that was half desperate and half deliberate, she pulled a needle out of her hair and jammed it as hard as she could into his leg. He let out a howl, and lashed out at her, grabbing her head and smashing it as hard as he could against the floor.

Dusty blacked out.

When she blinked awake, it was the oddest sensation. She felt the blood from her back wound and the head wounds pool around her. She could see Watson standing over her, her father's sword in hand, ready to kill her. In slow motion, out of the corner of her eye she saw a black, catlike shape leaping toward him. Watson turned, inexpressible horror filling his visions as Selina Kyle, a vicious wraith whom he'd killed with his own hands leaped at him from the stairwell.

Next thing Dusty knew, Selina had Watson by the neck, her sharp nails digging into his throat, her face purveying every ounce of abhorrence that she felt for the man. His eyes bulged, fear filling his every limb until he could feel nothing else. He wanted to shout out for help against this avenging angel that had come to drag him down into the never-ending abyss he had created for himself. But all he could say was one thing. Her name.

"S-Selina?"

When she spoke it was a growl, "How dare you?" Her voice was not the same. No longer the timid soprano he had first met, but also no longer the ruthless mercenary he had created. Everything about her oozed felinity, but also a grace and lethal quality that made him shake in his boots. She continued, "How dare you do these things to her! Corrupt her, torture her, kill her! I am sickened by you. You do not deserve to live. You do not deserve to live beyond the next light of day for what you have done not only to her but to others who actually realized what they were doing!" Their eyes locked. Selina's eyes were not full of hate, but pain and sadness. She released Watson with a shove. Blood trickled from his neck where Selina's nails had held him so tightly. Watson was speechless for a moment longer. Then -

"What about honor?" He seethed in return, now that he was no longer held in her powerful grasp, "What about commitment and duty? You all promised and committed that you would stay with the League until the end of your days."

"There is no duty to a commitment that takes honor away from you," She countered, "And Justine Grayson Wayne's honor has only multiplied since she left you, first for having the courage to leave and stay away, but also the honor of using her skills to exact good and eradicate evil. Evil like the kind you teach."

"You also were committed!"

"I was committed to a cause that I didn't know would destroy my soul. And I was punished for trying to save whatever soul I had left," She said, "Only a minion of the worst devil would not see the value and the goodness of that. Of course, you are the only minion that is like that in the whole world. On this entire planet, there is not another such as you who would destroy the world for his own ends."

"Selina?" _No. No, NO!_ Rick's voice came from the doorway. Selina's head turned. Watson took that moment to leap at Selina, all his power and fury rushing toward her. Fueled by panic and a bravery that she couldn't fully explain, Dusty pulled herself up in a flash and leaped at Watson. Mid-flight, they collided. Several things happened at once. Rick punched the panic button on his belt, Selina threw herself and Richard backward out of Watson's reach, and Watson and Dusty slammed into the wall. Watson hit the wall head-on, an audible crack resounding through the room, as well as the tinkling sound of shattering glass. Dusty's back hit the wall, driving some of the already falling glass into the wall, the extremely sharp glass shards puncturing her suit. Dusty's head was mostly protected, but was knocked sharply against the wall once again. It seemed almost graceful as they fell onto the floor, slumping into a black unconscious heap.

All was silent for almost five full seconds, except for Richard's panicked gulps of air. "Dusty?" He ran toward them, pausing when he came near Watson. There was nothing to worry about. Watson was truly unconscious, and would be for some time. Carefully, with Selina's help, he pulled Dusty out of the tangle of legs and arms and laid her out to assess the damage. There was a copious amount. Her scalp had been ripped in three places from the glass shards of the mirror, and some sort of blunt object had whacked her in the head, leaving a bloody mess. Blood was still escaping from the wound in her back, and bruising from the massive amount of force that had been used against her was showing on every visible part of her body not covered by armor.

"Dusty! Speak to me!" Rick said to her, tears filling his eyes. There was blood all over the room. He didn't know how much was hers, and he didn't know how much there was in total. Was it two pints? Three? A cup? A teaspoon? But she opened her eyes nonetheless.

"Rick?" Her voice was breathless. From pain or because the knife wound she had received punctured her lung, he didn't know.

"Yes, Dusty?" He said, a horrible, yet perfect tear running down his nose.

"I don't know if I'm going to make it. I can't…concentrate. So much blood… pain… I just want…to let it… all go…" Her voice clenched. She closed her eyes, trying not to let the pain overwhelm her.

"Don't let it go, Dusty, Bruce is on his way. Wait for him, he'll take care of you!" He pleaded. She shook her head, weakly.

"I don't know… if I can…There's a pull…can't…describe…"

"Don't give up!"

"I'm…not…Just…can't stay." There was a bang somewhere upstairs.

"There's Bruce. Please, Dusty. Stay with us just a little bit longer," Rick pleaded, tears filling his eyes. Her breathing hitched. There was thundering. Obviously there was a beacon attached to the signal. Bruce appeared in the doorway, Batman uniform on, but cowl off, and took in the scene. Dusty, beaten and bloody, lay in Rick's arms. Watson, unconscious or dead-he couldn't tell which, and honestly didn't care - lay on the floor, and Selina Kyle, of all people, typing into a device that was hooked to Watson's belt.

Watson and Selina could wait. He made his way to Dusty and Rick. She looked pretty bad, and her breathing was shallow. A dark red stain on Rick's pajama bottoms attested to the fact that she was losing blood fast. A warm rush of appreciation for the fact that he'd summoned a police team and an ambulance came over him. Paranoia did, in fact, pay off sometimes.

"Dusty," He said to her urgently. He saw her eyes drifting closed. At his voice, her eyes tried to open, but it seemed the effort was too much. She let them close.

"Bruce," She whispered her voice dry and painful, "So cold." Shock. He pushed Rick out of the way, probably harder than he needed to, but a sudden feeling of dread had taken hold. He couldn't lose her. He couldn't lose her! He held her closely in his arms, trying to warm her as much as he was able.

"Don't leave me, Dusty. Please," He begged, trying to stop the bleeding, "I want to marry you again," He told her, "This time for real. With both of us really meaning it." He hadn't planned this, in fact he hadn't even thought about it all that much, but he now meant it with all his heart. Her brow crinkled.

"Really…love…me?" She whispered, her voice half-skeptical, "Love…you…but didn't want…admit…at…first."

"Yes." He agreed. "But now I do admit it. I love you, Dusty, I have loved you for a long, long time. Don't leave me now. Don't leave me before we can make forever ours."

She smiled, softly, wistfully, all pain seemingly fading away. "I'm not…we already…have…forever." She took a deep breath, "I love…you…too, Bruce." She whispered, her eyes opening a crack. The dark green of her eyes seemed clouded, half-dead. Then her eyes slipped closed, and she went silent, and still. Bruce's hand went up to her neck. Her pulse was weak. Then it slowed. And finally, after a moment, stopped.

* * *

Thanks to High Queen Crystal and Bryt for reviewing.

Please review!

Until Next week,

~Sabre


	56. Chapter Fifty Five: Healing

Here we go!

Enjoy!

* * *

_She smiled, softly, wistfully, all pain seemingly fading away. "I'm not…we already…have…forever." She took a deep breath, "I love…you…too, Bruce." She whispered, her eyes opening a crack. The dark green of her eyes seemed clouded, half-dead. Then her eyes slipped closed, and she went silent, and still. Bruce's hand went up to her neck. Her pulse was weak. Then it slowed. And finally, after a moment, stopped._

Chapter Fifty-Five

The ambulance crew burst in a moment later. A few words were discussed, no one seemingly noticed the armor on any of the four adults, and after Dusty's armor was removed, CPR started immediately. It was two minutes after her heart stopped that it was restarted. She was temporarily bandaged, and then wrapped in several layers of blankets, and was administered several shock treatments before strapped to a stretcher and carted upstairs. Watson was also administered health treatment, but under close police supervision, and while the ambulance crew was careful, there was none of the sympathetic attentiveness that Dusty had received. It was simply business.

Everyone knew Watson by now, thanks to news reports and wanted posters, and the newspaper article on Dusty's trial, and it was certain that no one cared for him very much. Such a revelation left a guilty, slightly warm and very satisfied feeling in Bruce. At least as much feeling as could be spared from worrying about Dusty.

After she was checked into the hospital, she had an ultrasound for the scope of the injuries, and they witnessed the first miracle.

"I have never seen anything like it," The doctor in charge whispered later to a now-regularly clothed Bruce, "The knife didn't hit anything except muscle tissue. No organs, no bone, nothing. What happened to make her pass out and then, well, die… was a combination of a loss of blood and shock," He said. Bruce thought about this for a moment.

"And what about the scalp wounds. Should they fully heal, too?" He asked. The doctor nodded again.

"As far as I can see, the most life-threatening wound she has is the skull fracture near her left temple that resulted in concussion. Even that, if we watch it carefully, and she doesn't overexert herself, should heal very quickly," The doctor said, showing him the X-rays. "From what I understand about your wife, sir, the largest problem will be keeping her down that she will not re-injure herself." Bruce smiled.

"You understand correctly. Though she tries, I think she can be a little too boisterous for her own good." He said, rocking back on his heels a bit. The doctor smiled.

"Well, her prognosis is good. She's quite possibly the most fit person I have ever seen, and because of that, she should make a very quick recovery." Bruce smiled.

"Good. When can I see her?" he asked.

"She's in surgery at the moment to close all of her wounds, but she should be out within the hour, and you can see her then. I'm afraid that she'll be under general anesthesia for a while, but she should be awake after a few hours." The doctor said, checking his clipboard once again. Bruce nodded.

"Understandable," He replied, watching the doctor leave, then leaning against the wall. He hung his head, allowing his body to relax, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

She was out of surgery forty minutes later. It was almost three a.m. when Bruce looked at the clock in the recovery room as they wheeled her in. He was also informed that Watson was under heavy sedation and police guard in the secure wing of the military hospital around forty miles outside of Gotham. The threat was over. He knew that much.

For the next two hours he just watched her, studying her face. They had had to shave a little bit of hair around her head wounds for the stitches, and a little bit back from her temple. It looked a little odd at the moment, but her thick hair, and the styles she usually wore it in would make it easy for her to cover it up. As she lay there, fast asleep, he held her hand. Finally, at five fifteen she opened her eyes. Bruce stood. Her eyes were confused and almost frightened.

"Dusty, don't worry. I'm here." He whispered.

"Bruce?" She breathed. Her voice was dry, as if her throat was completely parched. He smiled.

"I'm here," He whispered again.

"What time is it?" She whispered.

"About five fifteen in the morning. You lived, Dusty," He whispered, a slight tremor cutting through his voice. She smiled, still rather groggy.

"I noticed. And at the moment I'm kind of happy about it." She said, closing her eyes.

"Just at the moment?" He asked, a smile sneaking up one side of his face.

"Once I see that they've cut my hair and the pain comes back, I may reconsider it," She said wryly. He smiled.

"Actually, if you wear it how you wear it normally, it should be fine. The only thing that will show is the little bit they had to take off near your left temple. And then you can just say it's a receding hairline," He teased. She smiled.

"Or I can just wait inside until it grows out. In fact, I may do that, and then cut my hair. I need a change," She said, her voice still quiet and contemplative. Bruce thought about this.

"Keep it at least a little bit long," He said, "If you alter your appearance too much, people will think something happened." He flashed her another smile. Then he took her hand. "But Dusty…" he trailed off, almost hesitant, "Even with Watson gone…you'll still stay with me?" He asked tentatively. She smiled, reaching up carefully and gently touching cheek.

"Count on it."

* * *

The next few days were an interesting paradox between trying and stressful, and exhilarating and almost overly joyful. Dusty was definitely not a fan of the surgery room hairdressing team, but she was definitely consoled by the fact that she was alive and her scalp was once again whole. Her hair had even grown back a half an inch by her second week there. Beside the skull fracture, which gave her a bit of a headache whenever she stood up, she was getting better at a rate that surprised even her.

But as she returned to normalcy, there were things that she needed to decide. One, would she stay with Bruce? They were married, and that was generally considered a long-term commitment. Two, what would she do about Richard? The court order said that she couldn't even associate with him without consent from his guardian. Well, she had that, but was it too much to ask for co-guardianship? Did the court order prevent her from his guardianship forever?

She asked Bruce about it. He promised to look into it. Four days later he came back with astonishing news.

"It was never signed," He said, "Apparently it got shunted to the bottom of a pile, and then filed away. So, as soon as you are up and about, we're going to the courthouse to fill out custody papers." This news warranted an exuberant hug and lingering kiss, and Dusty spent the rest of the day smiling.

Then, last but not least, came the problem of Selina. She spent most of her days at the hospital, either talking to Dusty from everything from politics to TV shows, and most other normal subjects, but any personal information was completely unknown. Dusty knew Selina wasn't American. She wasn't sure where Selina was from, but Selina was certainly doing her best to master the American accent and everything that the average American would know. When they weren't talking, she was either sitting the room staring out the window, obviously thinking deeply, or holed up in Wayne Manor, reading voraciously or helping Rick when he was home. She was worrying Bruce as well.

"I just don't know what to do with her. So far I've been able to keep her from the public eye, but who knows when a paparazzi could pop up and suddenly you get either a long-lost Wayne/Grayson daughter or sister or Wayne's new mistress," Bruce said, rubbing his face.

Dusty sighed, leaning back, thinking, "If anyone asks, we'll say that she's my sister," She said after a moment. Bruce sighed and sat down on the chair beside her bed. Selina was at home that day, helping Richard with his homework that he was catching up on. They had discovered when he'd come to Dusty for homework help that Selina was a whiz with numbers, science and the like. When asked about it later, she revealed that before the League contacted her, she was studying to be a chemist, the first bit of personal information that she'd given up since she'd taken up with the Waynes.

"It's just not something I necessarily want to deal with. You said that she was a student of yours?"

"Sort of, I was the one who taught her the basics on ninjutsu. I also helped her learn English. I'm not sure where she's from, but if I had to guess, I'd say that she's Dutch."

"Do you know why she entered the League?" He asked. Dusty shook her head.

"The rumor was that her brother was killed, but I've never asked whether or not that story was true. It's just not a question one generally asks," She said, leaning back. He thought for a moment.

"What should we do with her? Like, long term? I just don't think that saying that she's your sister will cut it for much longer. A lot of people here know your history, and even though you did have a sister, she's been dead for twenty-four years." Dusty nodded.

"We can't decide anything until we ask her, but we might have to just relocate her. She's been acclimatizing herself to America. I thought we just might pick a home for her where the League can't find her. Most of all where she can make a clean start."

"Why not just send her back to The Netherlands?" Dusty shook her head.

"I get the feeling she's just not that excited about going back. You know how it was going back to Gotham after all those years…The memories, hardly any of them pleasant for you…I think she's afraid of succumbing to the rage that drove her to the League in the first place. And I don't blame her for it," She said, her voice sad, taking Bruce's hand. He nodded.

"We'll just have to ask her," He said. She nodded and closed her eyes.

"That we will…" She said, relaxing into slumber.

They asked Selina the next day. She agreed that she would love to make a new start in the United States, and to do it in relative secret, to almost literally become a new person. It was decided that as soon as Dusty recovered and was back at full strength, estimated to be in two weeks, in the second week of May, she would accompany Selina on a country-wide tour, and the place that Selina felt most comfortable and would be the safest in, she would stay.

Bruce was reluctant to even think about letting Dusty go, because of her healing head, but she shrugged him off and told him to not worry about her.

"The most trouble I'll get into is if my luggage gets lost. Relax," She said, eating her lunch. He gave her a very skeptical look. She sighed exasperatedly, "Oh, come on, Bruce, you're acting as if I'm a trouble magnet!" His look did not falter. She thought for a moment. "Okay, maybe you're right, but the main reason why I got in trouble was because of a crazy guy bent on killing me that was following me everywhere!" Then he smiled and then shook his head.

"If you weren't right, I would fight harder, but I promise you, if a terrorist picks your plane, then I will never let you leave the house again. Ever," He said, poking her in the chest. Then he stood.

"Are you going already?" Dusty asked, somewhat disappointed. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Board meeting. Under normal circumstances I'd duck it, but I've got a new image to protect." He kissed her forehead carefully. "Stay put, will you?" He asked teasingly.

She sighed in mock frustration, "If I have to." Then she smiled.

"I love you," He said as he walked out the door. She smiled back.

"Love you, too," She said. He waved to everyone and then walked out. Selina watched Dusty carefully from the chair by the window as Dusty picked up a book from her bedside table.

"You really love him, don't you?" She asked. Dusty looked up, surprised.

"I – I guess so, why?" Dusty said, also somewhat confused by the question. Selina smiled slightly and then looked down, her smile disappearing, and being replaced by an extremely pained expression.

"I can't…I can't talk about it, Dusty, but…don't let it go, all right? If you even think you love him as much as I think you do, don't let it go. Your relationship is founded on friendship and mutual respect that developed into love…it's just more special than anything," She whispered, looking up at her, her expression desperate and pleading. Dusty looked at Selina for a moment, taking in her expression and her earnest words.

"It was your husband, wasn't it? He was the one who died?" Selina nodded, sniffed once, and then broke down crying, Dusty sat up and then stood, walking over to Selina, and put her arms around her. Selina turned into the older woman, sobbing into her shoulder.

There wasn't anything to say after that, but with a corner of her heart, the part that wasn't aching in sympathy for her friend, Dusty felt that finally Selina had started to heal.

* * *

Thanks to taytayfanatical, Nancie, Lamminator, ChristianBale Girl 2010, High Queen Crystal, suchicken, Aleynna for reviewing. You guys are amazing.

Thanks to Bryt for telling me to get my rear in gear and send me this chapter, even though she had a VERY busy weekend.

Also, just a question, who would be interested in knowing who I had in mind when I wrote these characters? I haven't mentioned it until now because it sounds kind of strange, but if people want to know, I'll mention it soon.

Thanks!

Until next week!

~Sabre


	57. Chapter Fifty Six: Serenity

Here you go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Six

Dusty walked out of the hospital under her own power a week later, with express instructions not to overdo it, and with express instructions for everyone else not to help her do so. She walked to the car, and with Rick on one side, and Bruce on the other and with Selina up front, they rode home.

Over the next two weeks, Dusty gradually returned to her usual routine. Exercises in the mornings with Bruce, Selina or both, work, planning with Selina, fixing things for Batman, and then gratefully falling asleep each night. Things were simply working out, and she was comforted, especially by the letter she received in the mail. It was about Watson.

_Dear Mrs. Wayne,_

_ We would like to inform you that the patient known as David Watson died from complications of his injuries at 11:22 pm, May 13__th__. _

_Regards,_

_ ~St Catherine's Military Hospital_

She was a little sad, memories of the times that she had thought they were truly friends washing through her. It was never good when someone died, but on the other hand, she knew she could finally have closure. She could feel true peace.

A thoughtful expression on her face, she walked to her vanity, where she picked opened a secret compartment in the lower drawer. Pulling out all Watson's letters and the letter that she had just barely received, she put it with the other letters from Watson, and then tucked them all safely in a medium sized manila envelope. Then she went into her closet, and found the box of blackmail material that Sana had sent to Bruce for his last birthday. Then she brought it out.

She looked through it all, the photos of bubble-gum pink hair, allergic reactions, colds, black eyes, tapes of phone calls, and relived all of the silly and rather brainless things she'd ever done, laughing at some, and frowning at others. Then she took all of her journals from the past nine years, and the envelope of letters, tucking them in with the rest. She would look at them again, that was for sure, either when she felt like she'd done something horrible, or even when she thought she was the greatest gift to mankind. It was now not her blackmail box, but her humility box, the box that she would go through, to remind herself of her infinite humanity. Yes, she was smart, even smarter than average, but she was not perfect.

And, at least for now, that was just fine. She could lay it to rest. It might hurt, it might ache, it might teach her lessons in the future, but the past was the past.

Now it was time to move forward.

* * *

The day arrived. Dusty was awake at three in the morning, finished with breakfast and carefully making her way silently through the house by three-thirty. Selina was awake and eating breakfast downstairs. This was the part of the relocating that Bruce didn't know about. No one could know where Selina and Dusty were going. Dusty felt guilty for leaving without letting anyone but Alfred know where they were going, but she felt she owed it to Selina to make a fresh start. A pure, true fresh start.

She first stopped in at Rick's room and opened the door silently. Taking a note from her pocket, she walked to his bedside. She touched his face softly before tucking the letter beside his lamp. Then she walked out. She walked to Bruce's room next. It was possibly the longest walk she had ever taken. At the door, she paused. Could she go in without waking him up?

She would try. There was just no way that she could leave without saying goodbye. As quietly as was humanely possible, she opened the door. He was still asleep. The blinds were pulled back from the window, and the moonlight rested softly on his face. He was still sleeping deeply. He must have gotten in less than an hour before. She walked to the side of his bed, yet another letter in her hand. She knew that the longer she stayed the more likely he was to wake up.

Tears gathered in her eyes, and she touched his cheek softly, lovingly. Then she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. Leaving the letter on his bedside table, as well as a small glass dragon she'd had made, she whispered to him softly as she left the room.

"Goodbye. For now."

Bruce woke with a start. He glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. He shook his head. It was all just too weird. The dream of Dusty walking in, and leaving him a letter had just seemed so real. He glanced at the table beside his bed, hoping that nothing was there. But there was. The small dragon seemed to glimmer at him through the light from the hallway. There was a letter there as well, and the handwriting on the envelope was Dusty's. He opened it.

_Dear Bruce,_

_ There are so many things that I want to say and express…I just can't find the words. Let me begin by telling you what I do know. I love you. I can honestly say that I love you more than anyone I have ever met. But I need to explain why I'm leaving…for me. All my life I've lived for other people, often at the expense of my innocence and possibly even my soul. I just can't live for anyone else anymore. I can no longer be defined by someone else. I will be back. I promise you. You are the only one I know who I could be happy with. But let me say that this is my chance to make peace with and truly become myself, so I truly be yours forever. This is my time to let go, so you can have Dusty Wayne, and only her; not Dusty Grayson, with Watson and Montague and every single that's ever happened to me hanging on my coat tails. It's not fair to you, and I don't think I could live with it either._

_ I will be gone about a month, helping Selina get settled in wherever she chooses. We got her a green card last week, if you remember, and she's working toward U.S. Citizenship. I will be back, I promise. I'm sorry for leaving in this way. I'll be back on the seven o'clock bus from Annapolis on June fourteenth._

_ Please know that I love it in Gotham. It holds the best times in my life. I will return soon, and I'll write when I can. _

_ I love you,_

_ Dusty_

Bruce stared at the letter. She would be gone a month. What would he tell Sana? He knew, even if the Lilliputian redhead didn't, that she would get married soon - which was something of a tragedy, seeing how even he could see it. Yet, at the same time, he knew he could tell her. She knew Dusty's history… But still…

Of all the times for Dusty to leave!

Yet, he'd lived without her before, he'd just have to try to do it again.

* * *

Dusty sat on the airplane beside Selina. They'd left on the earliest flight to LA they could find. Even so, both of them were wide-awake, even as they were about to land, Selina because she was so excited, and Dusty because she was still wondering if she'd done the right thing. Then she looked at Selina, looking with wide eyes out of the window. Then she knew. It was no great sacrifice to help someone, especially if it helped the giver as much as the receiver. Like she'd said in the letter, this was the time to leave her past behind. She would come home a new woman. A new, unencumbered woman who could give her heart wholly to one person.

The next month they traveled from city to city, living off the land so to speak. Dusty knew that Bruce would try and track her movements if he could, so she made sure to use her personal laptop as much as was possible, which she could scramble the location, and she had left her cell phone at home.

They never did the same job twice. Among other jobs, they were waiters in Las Vegas, bartenders in Los Angeles, wedding singers in Portland (where Dusty was admitted to the hospital for an allergic reaction after her drink was spiked with champagne – they left hurriedly after that), and simply tourists in Salt Lake City. Every place that they went held a new realization for Dusty, and another thing that Selina would point out and make her smile. In Salt Lake City, they went to the Historic Temple Square. It was warm, but the coolness that was brought on with the evening put Dusty at ease, as well as the peculiar peace that seemed to be suspended over the grounds. There, Selina made her final decision.

Dusty had learned so much about Selina in the short time they had been travel buddies. She was smart, creative, she had an amazing voice (she had been the leading singer when they were the wedding singers), and most of all, and she simply cared. She thought she'd learned how to read her, but her announcement that she had chosen where she wanted to live left her flat-footed, realizing that their journey had finally come to an end.

"Are you sure?" Dusty asked, looking at Selina in the dimming light, as if making sure the dark-haired beauty wasn't pulling her leg. Selina nodded, smiling a little bit sadly.

"It's time to move on."

June Thirteenth

Dusty left Selina in the airport in Salt Lake City, Utah, with a ticket to an unknown destination. That was the price. No one but Selina could know who she really was in the destination where she was going. But that didn't lessen all the pain. As they hugged goodbye, Selina saw the tears in Dusty's eyes. She laughed, and punched Dusty lightly in the shoulder as they stood in front of the escalators to the second floor.

"Oh, come on, Dusty. I'll write. I have your e-mail address, and I promise I will write you every week. I may even come visit from time to time," She said, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. Dusty smiled, and tried to act nonchalant.

"Yeah, Rick will miss you." She said, looking down and sniffing. Rick had written every other day that Dusty had been gone. Selina, after the first ten days, had caved and created an e-mail address specifically for Rick to write her at. Selina smiled at Dusty's words.

"Only Rick?" She asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. Dusty smirked.

"Bruce had better not miss you too much," She said in a mutedly humorous tone sticking her thumbs in the pockets of her leather jacket. Selina laughed. Then she sobered. Her eyes filling up with tears as well, she came forward and embraced Dusty again.

"I'll miss you too, Dusty. You've been the best friend in the world. And I mean that," She said softly. Dusty hugged the younger woman tightly.

"I wish you many more best friends, Selina. You of all people deserve them," Dusty said. Selina stepped back and smiled, wiping a tear from her face and laughing a bit at herself and her emotional state. Then she straightened up.

"Thank you, Dusty," she said, her voice soft and sincere. Then she half turned to the escalator. "Well, the future calls," Selina said, "I can't deny it any longer." Dusty smiled.

"Will you still not tell me where you're going?" She asked. Selina laughed.

"How about I send you hints?" Selina said slyly. Dusty shook her head.

"Now that I think about it…" Dusty trailed off. Selina finished.

"It would defeat the object."

"Exactly." Dusty said. Selina nodded, then picked up her carry on baggage. She looked at the escalator and heaved a sigh, as if overwhelmed.

"Are you afraid?" Dusty asked. Selina turned back.

"Are you?" She asked challengingly.

"Most definitely," Dusty breathed, heaving a sigh and looking down. Selina nodded.

"Just checking," She said, turning to the side slightly. Dusty's eyebrows knotted in confusion.

"What?" She asked, genuinely confused. Selina smiled.

"When you're afraid of the future, you respect it, you want to do it right. Keep that attitude, but when the future comes…" She swallowed, tears coming to her eyes and she looked off into the distance for a moment, composing herself, "My husband told me once: 'You're stronger than you feel, and smarter than you know. Live out your dreams with confidence, keep to what you know is right, and there is nothing that can stand in your way,'" Selina said, a small, sad smile on her face. Then she shouldered her purse and picked up her small computer case. "I'll miss you, Dusty, but I will see you someday. I promise."

"I'll look forward to it." Dusty responded. Then, one last time, Dusty and Selina embraced, and then parted ways.

* * *

Dusty left that night on the night bus to Indianapolis. She slept most of the way, but around dawn she opened her eyes and took in the countryside zooming past her. Her heart was full. Deep down there was still a smidgeon of fear, and unease, but it had nothing to do with the past. As the bus rolled across Nebraska, she thought of everyone. Her parents, Charity, Rachel, Dorothy… and as she did, she came to such a realization that it made her sit up a little straighter.

There was pain attached to those memories. There always would be. It was part of those memories, but it wasn't… her. She was not the pain of lost parents or friends. She was not the agony of wrong decisions and heartbreak. She was not the anger of betrayal, or fear of the consequences. They were a part of her, but only a small part. A part that was small and easy to overwhelm with all the good memories. Good memories that were also a part of her. But who was she then? She was just… Dusty. And now she was ready to go home. She was just… ready.

* * *

Boy, there's a lot of me in this chapter. There just...is.

Sorry, Bryt, I forgot to send this to you. In my defense, I've been sleep deprived all week, much like I am now.

However, thanks to Lady Wesker, ChristianBale Girl 2010, suchicken, taytayfanatical.

As for the characters, I'll post it with the epilogue, as well as the stats for this story. I've purposefully tried to avoid this, seeing how it means that a HUGE part of my life (and I mean at least four years) will be over, but next chapter is the final chapter before the epilogue.

Thanks for all that you guys do. I don't think you'll ever know how much all of this means to me.

Until next week,

~Sabre


	58. Chapter Fifty Seven: Going Home

Second to last chapter...

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Seven

June Fourteenth

The day was rainy in Gotham, Bruce noted as he drove his non-descript grey Honda Civic down the city streets toward the bus stop on ninth. He'd checked the day twice already, making sure doubly sure that it was the fourteenth. He didn't think he could take another bout of teasing from Alfred and Rick for getting the day wrong _again._ He glanced at the clock. It was already six forty-five. Gratefully, he wouldn't be late. Easing his foot harder onto the gas pedal, he drove down the roads quickly. Although it probably the sappiest thing he'd ever thought in his life, Bruce wholly admitted that he wanted to see her the moment she got off the bus. Rick had wanted to come too, but had had a school function – something to do with a summer science contest that he'd signed up for – and hadn't been able to come.

He pulled up to the bus station parking lot five minutes later. Good. He had ten minutes to pull himself together into a slightly comprehensible mess. Then he sighed. What happened to Batman? What had caused him to turn in to this wimp of a schoolboy?

He knew what Alfred would say: Love can change the most heartless of men into the most devoted of husbands. He sighed again, this time from mixed emotions. Then he stepped out of the car into the rain, and walked toward the bus station platform. It didn't have a cover, and so he waited in the rain for her bus to come.

"You know you're going to get wet," He heard a feminine voice say behind him. He didn't bother to turn around, staring at the bus depot across the street.

"It's all right. I'm waiting for my wife," He said. He heard the voice laugh softly, as if she was shaking her head.

"Her bus came already. She got off, but apparently her ride was late. I heard her say she was going to take a taxi." The voice was very matter of fact, but there was a definite tone of amusement.

"What?" he whipped around to see a very wet Dusty sitting on her suitcase, the picture of a stranded traveler. Her face softened into a warm smile.

"But she didn't," She whispered, standing. He stepped toward her. She smiled and looked up at him. "I thought you forgot," She admitted. He shook his head, taking another step forward.

"I couldn't do that. I've been waiting for this day since you left that letter by my bedside," He said. She nodded, almost as if she was trying to not cry. "Dusty," Bruce started, "I love you, too. So, so much. I could never let you go. Not ever." Tears ran down her face, almost hidden by the rain. Then she rushed toward him, throwing her arms around him. He caught her and held her there, not caring about the icy cold rainwater that was soaking them both.

"I love you, too, Bruce. I've spent almost my whole time away wishing I were here. I thought I was wrong to be defined by the people I know," She said, her voice slightly ragged, "But to tell the truth, it's them, and the things they teach me, that I define myself," She said. Looking up at him, her hair dark and dripping from the rain, she smiled and said, "I don't need to wander any more. What – or whom - I love defines me most," She whispered. He smiled slightly, and kissed her deeply as the rain came pouring down. Tears coursed down her face, but they were tears of joy, of a heart complete in purpose.

She would never leave him again.

When they arrived home at seven thirty, still mostly damp, they almost received a reprimand from Alfred. But considering they'd kept the heaters on high the whole way home, and didn't seem to be suffering from any sort of sickness, he decided not to push it. Soon after they got home, Rick came thundering down the stairs. Dusty almost swung him up into her arms, but found she didn't have to, he'd grown. She wasn't sure when, but he came up past her chin, so she simply took him in her arms and hugged him for all she was worth.

The evening rushed by, thousands of memories greeting her at every turn as she worked through the everyday things – Alfred's cooking, doing her exercises in the dance room, and then finally watching a movie with Rick and Bruce, just as if they'd never been apart. She sat between the two, watching what was on the screen, but for some reason it was hard to concentrate. So, letting the noise of the movie serve as a gentle cadenced song in the background, she let her mind wander.

She remembered the first time she saw Bruce. The first time that she had seen Rick in eight years, her parents, Charity, Watson…

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but she woke up in Bruce's arms the next morning. They were in his room, and she was curled up against him. Amazingly, he was still asleep, his breathing slow and steady in her ear. She stayed still, trying not to disturb him, trying to take in the moment, the comfort.

There was nowhere she would rather be at that exact moment. Earlier, she would have wanted to be downstairs trying to bring the League down in Gotham, or trying to train so when Watson attacked she would be ready. Now, she could relax.

Bruce stirred, but just barely. He pulled her closer. She smiled as he finally started to wake up.

"Good morning," She whispered. She felt a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Good morning, Dusty," He whispered back. She rested in his arms as they both just lay there. When Bruce spoke, she heard the rumble of his voice reverberating in his chest against her back. "So, what do you feel like doing today?" He asked. She smiled, her head resting partially against the pillow and his arm.

"How about being lazy all day?" She said, closing her eyes, and relaxing. He smiled, and wrapped his arm around her.

"It's already nine-thirty…" He trailed off. He waited a moment before she groaned.

"Are you trying to get me out of bed, or are you just tired of me laying on your arm?" She said, turning over to glare at him. He smiled down at her. She glowered back at him. She pulled the covers up over her head. "Well, I'm not getting up. I don't have any pressing issues on my mind, and there is nothing to convince me to get out of bed." She grumbled, her voice muffled from under the covers. Bruce smiled.

"How about Sana's wedding?" Bruce asked, leaning over the covers. Dusty shot upright, barely missing Bruce's head.

"She said yes?" She asked, her eyes wide with excitement. Bruce shrugged and nodded. "YES!" Dusty shot out of bed, pumping her fist in the air and doing a half crazy sort of nerd victory dance. Bruce watched with an amused expression on his face until she was done and flopped back on the bed, giggling madly.

"Did you like my nerd dance?" She asked, a few giggles escaping her. Bruce smiled.

"I did indeed. You'll have to teach it to me sometime." Dusty laughed again.

"Sorry, Bruce, but I think that sort of madness has to come from within. If you don't have it by now, I don't think it's coming," She said, looking at him upside down from her position. Bruce smirked.

"Maybe I can just control it better than you," He said, tapping her nose softly with his finger. She smirked back, and pointed at him.

"That is entirely possible," She replied. He smiled and brushed her hair away from her face. He sighed lovingly.

"What am I going to do with you?" He whispered. She grinned.

"Learn to love my flaws?" She asked. He kissed her softly.

"Done."

"Be patient with my stubbornness?" He kissed her again.

"Done."

"Love me forever?" A pause, and then one last, lingering kiss.

"Done."

* * *

Sana called after they'd gone downstairs for breakfast. Alfred handed the phone to Dusty. She took it.

"Hello?"

"Well, well, well, it's my soon-to-be matron of honor. Unfolding from the bus ride okay?" Dusty was caught by surprise for a moment, but quickly found her voice.

"Well, a little bit sore, but I'm okay. How are you doing? I heard that you're going to get hitched soon…" She said calmly. Sana suddenly squealed directly into the mouthpiece. Dusty winced and held the phone away from her ear as sheer noise, half shout half feedback ripped through the speaker.

"YESSSSS!" Alfred looked at the phone in Dusty's hands with a peculiar expression.

"It would seem the young lady is excited," He remarked, pausing before turning back to his work. Dusty nodded, her expression slightly perturbed, and then the phone back to her ear.

"So, what else is happening?" Dusty asked in a conversational tone. Sana's voice dropped back to a normal pitch, at least for the moment.

"Well, beyond that, there's pretty much nothing _except I'm drowning in wedding details!_ I need someone to come clean off my desk, I'm drowning in material swatches, wedding hall papers, and Starbuck's cups. Help!" She pleaded emphatically. Dusty laughed.

"When do you want me to come over?"

"Um, now!" Sana's voice was half sarcastic and half frantic. "Seriously, I cannot work in this mess."

"You know, Sana, that you were the one who made it in the first place. And I thought you were more organized than me!" Dusty's tone was teasing, and she knew full well that a dirty work area was not the only reason that Sana wanted her over there.

"I know that but, please, please, _please_ come get me out." Sana's voice was pleading, and rather desperate.

"Fine. I'll be over in maybe…thirty minutes?" Dusty said, glancing at her watch, "Maybe less, depending on traffic." Sana seemed to smile.

"Great. I'll see you then!" Sana replied and then hung up. Dusty also disconnected the line, and then stood there for a moment looking at the phone in her hand. Alfred came up and took the phone from her.

"A penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Wayne?"

"Do weddings regularly cause mood swings in people?" She asked him, turning and looking at him, her head tilted slightly. He smiled and patted her arm as he passed.

"Often. I know you were half way between panic and grinning madly yourself."

She smiled and protested good-naturedly, "I was not. Mostly just panic. I didn't even know if I liked him then." Bruce walked in. Alfred smiled knowingly, and then walked out.

"Who didn't you like then? If it's not me, then I may have to challenge someone to a duel," Bruce said, putting his arms around her possessively. She smiled slightly and rested her hands on top of his.

"I hope not. Besides, duels are illegal." She pointed out, craning her neck to look up at him. He smiled, and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.

"EWWW!" Surprised, they broke apart and looked back at the doorway. Rick was on the floor, his hands over his eyes. "My eyes! My eyes! Man, you guys need a little sign to put up: 'Caution, entering mushy zone'. Bleugh!" He said, shivering in revulsion, and then peeking open one eye. When he saw they were no longer kissing, he stood up, brushed himself off, and then said in a completely normal tone, "What's for breakfast?"

Dusty smiled and walked out of the room, "Take it up with Bruce, I have to get going."

The drive was soothing, and Dusty cruised along, a smile firmly planted on her face. It felt good to drive the speed limit with no one chasing, nothing going on, not being late, and no one being in danger. She pulled into Sana's apartment garage and chose a visitor's spot. Sana was waiting by the front door of her apartment. The two women embraced as Dusty moved toward the building.

"Are you ready for what will probably be the biggest trial of your life?" Sana asked, slinging an arm around Dusty. Dusty burst out laughing, and reached around Sana's shoulders, hugging her best friend. Life was good.

* * *

Thanks to Serpentinia Malfoy, ChuddleyCanons, High Queen Crystal, taytayfanatical, Christianbalegirl2010, GreenPurpleBlack, Lady Wesker, and suchicken for reviewing, and Bryt (as always) for taking time out of her busy schedule and editing whatever silly mistakes that I have made. Sigh. :D Anyway.

Next chapter I'll include the "casting", and the stats up to that chapter.

As always, thank you for your support!

~Sabre


	59. Epilogue

Here we go!

Last chapter... Enjoy!

* * *

Epilogue

August 18th

Dusty walked into the bride's dressing room, her midnight blue matron-of-honor dress swishing around her legs as she strode confidently into the room. She looked around as she entered, expecting a lot more people than she presently saw. In fact, she only saw Sana sat at her dressing table, staring very seriously into the mirror, fiddling with one of her make-up cases as she did so. Dusty had been sent in by Sana's mother, who had said that Sana seemed worried about something, but now Dusty now suspected that that was only half the story, and the other half having something to do with Sana freaking out, and telling everyone to leave while she had a moment alone. She spoke quietly.

"Well, Sana, the wedding's about to begin, are you ready?" Dusty asked gently. She carefully straightened her white sash, and pulled a strand of short hair out of her eyes. She'd had it cut for the first time in a very long time, to just past her shoulders. It was quite a change for her. A sign of moving on. Sana sighed in response to her question.

"I don't know, Dusty. I was so sure yesterday that everything was going to go swimmingly and nothing was going to go wrong. Yesterday I was so excited. Now I'm not so sure," she said, sighing again with a slight tremor and sat back in her chair, a look that was very similar to abject terror on her face. Dusty smiled and walked toward Sana.

"Worried that something will go wrong?" She asked, coming and standing behind her, putting her hands on her shoulders. Sana shrugged, nodded and shook her head all at the same time.

"I – I don't even know! I mean, I've only-" She cut herself off, and pause, putting her lips together and turning away slightly, the corners of her mouth trembling.

"Would you like me to drive you home?" Dusty asked softly. Sana looked up, surprised.

"What?" Sana's voice was almost shocked, and it startled out of her tears.

"I know that right before I was married, I felt the same way. Sometimes after I was married I wished that I'd gone home." This wasn't technically a lie. During the days after Rachel's death, and Bruce's onslaught, she had truly wished at least once that none of the marriage, engagement, or even moving to Gotham had ever happened. But afterwards, it had all resolved itself. But now was the time for sympathy, not rebuke. Sana shook her head.

"But what about all the good times you had? The way that you pulled together, even when Watson was after you, and even after me? He rescued you, and I know that he loves you. You have both tried so hard to make it work, I'm sure that it was… worth it," Sana paused, realizing what she just said. She smiled, suddenly realizing the point. Dusty put her hand on her shoulder.

"As long as you try to do the best that you can, to love him as much as you can, and to work with him just like you've always done, there's nothing you can't accomplish. He's human, just like you are, and you'll have problems, but as long as you are willing to always give him a second chance, there's nothing that can't be resolved." She bent down close to Sana and looked into Sana's face, "He's a good guy, Sana, and I know he loves you as much as you love him. Probably more." Sana sniffed.

"But what about all the doubts? And the feeling that I might be making the biggest mistake of my life?" Sana said. Dusty looked down, momentarily unsure how to answer. Then, slowly, the answer came through to her.

"We make choices in our lives, Sana, based on what seems to be the best course of action at the moment. Some are hard, and some of them aren't. I think if you choose the best you can, and be willing to deal with the consequences, or at least be prepared to deal with them, you can't go far wrong."

"But what if I do?"

"Then you simply keep trying. The only way to fail…"

"…is to give up." Sana finished. "But it's not very reassuring. How can we know that everything is going to turn out okay?"

"We don't," Dusty said bluntly, "There is no way to know. But by doing the best we can, we greatly improve our chances."

Sana sighed. "I just wish I knew how this was going to turn out."

Dusty restrained herself from laughing, "I think all of us can sympathize with you, Sana. Now, do you want me to take you home?"

Sana thought for a long time. Dusty anxiously watched the clock. Ten minutes, five minutes, two minutes, one minute. Sana had an intense expression of concentration. Finally, she spoke.

"No. I said yes to James, and by goodness, I'm going to get married today."

Dusty walked town the aisle in front of Sana, carefully measuring her steps as she moved. It was the longest aisle Dusty had ever seen; the carpet that Dusty walked on a pure, cloud white that Sana had specifically ordered for the wedding, much to the distress of the cleaners. Finally, she made it to the end, and stood in her place, as she turned to see Sana, resplendent in one of her own creations, coming down the aisle. Dusty snuck a look at James, and Bruce behind him. James looked awestruck at his fiancée, who was positively glowing by this time as she walked down the aisle. Bruce winked at Dusty as they both stood there as the bride and groom's best couple. Dusty smiled back. Then Sana walked up the steps, and soon she was concentrating hard on the wedding.

It went smoothly, and soon they were dismissed until the reception that afternoon. Dusty and Bruce followed Sana and James. Pictures took a while, but luckily Sana was quite savvy as a model, and the numerous shots that were taken were beautiful. Bruce and Dusty mostly watched, though for a few pictures they were brought forward to have their pictures taken alongside the bride and groom. Mostly it was Sana's mother and Father, plus James's family whose pictures were taken.

After the pictures were finished, the reception zipped by in a flurry of pictures, shaking hands, hugging friends and catching up with people long unseen and missed. The refreshments were delicious, even through the lack of punch, and soon, it was the last dance of the evening before Sana and James left on their honeymoon to Milan, Italy, Dusty's present to Sana, with permission from the bride's parents. Bruce and Dusty walked onto the dance floor, hand in hand. As they started to slowly sway, Bruce whispered into her ear, "We beat Sana and James."

Dusty pulled back, confusion written clearly all over her face. "What do you mean?"

Bruce smiled mysteriously, "Well, I was thinking about how long we knew each other before we got married, and how long before they got married, and we have them beat by a whole month." He said.

"So…we rushed into marriage? Is that the point you're trying to make?" She said, a small, rather impertinent smile on her face. He thought about it, mock seriously.

"No, I think it just means that you were more cooperative that she was."

"What can I say? Running for your life helps you make up your mind," She said, her voice matter of fact. Bruce laughed, and kissed her forehead, and then just held her as they swayed back and forth. As the song drew to a close, he leaned forward and whispered into her ear.

"I love you," He said. She smiled, and before she could say anything, he continued, his cheek pressed against hers, "I'm so thankful for you and the things you have taught me. You are the best thing in my life."

Dusty smiled, and then pulled back to look into his eyes.

"So this is it, then," She whispered. He tilted his head to the side, a peaceful smile on his face.

"This is what?" He asked. She smiled blissfully.

"Happily Ever After."

The End

* * *

Whew... That's a rush...

Thanks to InceptionErection, ChuddleyCanons, Were-girl19, Lady Wesker, and ChristianBale Girl 2010 for reviewing.

Sorry Bryt, for not getting this, of all chapters, to you... I forgot earlier this week, and I'm chomping at the bit here, so... yeah. :D Love you... I'll post Sana and James's one-shot first!

Alrighty, now we get into the fun part.

Casting. I am going to shock you all, and say that this was a mild self-insert. I'm not twenty-eight, but I am five ten, have green eyes and at the time of this story I did have long brown hair to my waist. However, I am also not a ninja. So. Go figure. Oh, and I don't have Dusty's issues. Hence the *mild* insert.

All movie casting stands, though I see Rachel as Katie Holmes more than Maggie Gyllenhaal. Sorry Mags, and everyone that supports her. I just saw Katie first.

Richard is actually unknown, but Haley Joel Osment in the Sixth Sense kind of had the look I imagined. Watson is based off of Viggo Mortensen's look in Eastern Promises (which I haven't actually seen, by the way) Montague is Ben Barnes, Selina is Sharon Den Adel, who is the lead singer of Within Temptation, the artist of what I consider the theme song. Sana is based on Bryt, Judy is rather like a cross between Amy Adams and Simone Simons from Epica, and Damon was somewhat based on Tom Felton. Tell me your thoughts and who you envisioned as these characters! I'm excited to know!

Now, stats. I feel kind of nervous about doing this because it feels like I'm bragging, but... okay I am. As of right now, I have almost forty-two thousand hits. I have 243 reviews, and the story in Microsoft Word is 301 pages long. I started this story on November 6th, 2007, and I finished writing it on July 10th, 2009. It was 288 pages and 62 chapters at the time of completion, but through my editing, the combining of chapters and rearranging of a few scenes, it grew 13 pages, and shrunk to 59 chapters. Rick's kidnapping was the central threat to Dusty at the beginning, and the big hoorah at the end of the story was supposed to be Bruce asking Dusty out on a date. I started writing SOMH on a plane from Madrid, Spain to Moscow, Russia at 2 a.m. local time, got back home, scrapped it and started over. And then it began. When I began I wrote about three pages, with an average of about half a page a day. By the end, I wrote the entire court scene in one day, and for over a week was averaging about eight pages a day.

And...I think that's all to know. I've grown up with this story for the past three years. Because of the success of this story, I've started my own original novel series and am almost finished with the first book of that.

Thanks for all you've all done to me. It's been a great ride.

~Sabre

P.S. What was your favorite part of the story. I do have 93 people on my story alert list - it's the last chapter, I'd like to hear from you. :D

Peace!


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